Fool for Love
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Randy Orton is determined to find the girl of his dreams, even if he has to date the entire WWE roster to find her. But will he know her when he finds her, or has he already let her slip through his fingers? A collaborative story based on an Aslyn song.
1. The Prologue

**A/N: This story is a truly collaborative effort. Some chapters are written by me, some by other authors. While each chapter centers around one specific theme, each chapter will read like a vignette, almost like a OneShot, unto itself. The idea is based on a song by Aslyn called _'Golden_.' **

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**Fool for Love  
**_The Prologue_ by Queen of Kaos

**'And I never loved so hard. Never hurt so bad. Never been such a fool for love. And I never want so bad just to do it all again.'

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**

Perfectly gelled hair? Check. Freshly shaven face, silky smooth because he finally agreed to try some of Dave's moisturizer? Check. Pouty, kissable lips? Check. Perfectly tailored, pin-striped dress shirt that showed just enough of his dark, chiseled chest to be alluring, not mid-life crisis creepy? Check. Jeans that hung low enough to show his hip-dents when he stretched, but not so low that he looked too gangsta? Check. Irresistable cologne to ensure she sat a little closer all night? Check.

Randy Orton winked at his own reflection and turned to grab his wallet, stuffing it carefully into his back pocket. Even though he was used to going out after a show, partying until the sun came up with most of his friends, he wasn't used to the nervous feeling in his chest. Hanging out with the guys was nothing compared to the idea of an actual date.

He wasn't the kind of guy who got nervous easily, and especially when he was just cruising for chicks with the fellas. They had a system, they stuck to it, they all got laid, and everyone was happy. It was easy to be Randy Orton most nights. He knew people thought he was some voracious man-whore, but what did they know about his life?

Randy would be the first to admit he was no saint when it came to the women he surrounded himself with. He wasn't ashamed of the women he dated, and he knew they weren't ashamed of him. Hell, most of them wore him like a badge of honor. At least for a little while.

Of course, they all just assumed that he was trying to get laid. He was a young guy. Why wouldn't that be all he was after? Why would a guy like Randy Orton, with a demanding job and the world on a silver platter, want anything more than a tumble with a sexy, young lady? He surely wasn't looking to settle down.

And he knew how they got that idea. No guy was going to come right out and say "_I'm lookin' for the one. Do you think you might be her? I'm hoping you might be._" At least, no guy who ever wanted to have another date in his lifetime. So he pretended, under the guise of 'player,' that he wasn't looking for the one, that he didn't care if he found her, that it didn't matter if he ever found a soulmate so long as he got some ass.

As long as everyone went on believing that his little 'trial and error' method was synonomous with 'mack,' he wouldn't have to sweat his cover being blown. Besides, what did it matter to them if he might want something more from them in the future? All Randy really wanted was to find a chick who he could stand to be around for more than a couple of weeks - one that he found physically and mentally attractive. And, as far as he was concerned, he didn't have to stay celibate until he found it.

His father had always warned him that dating co-workers was a bad idea. A horrible break-up would ruin things not only for him and the woman he was with, but also for the rest of the people who had to be around them. 'Son, this business is complicated enough without adding fraterinzation to the mix.'

Fraterin . . . whatever. Randy just knew that he liked to be around the girls that he was dating. Divas were always around, so they made the most sense to Randy. They were the best of all worlds, in his opinion, because they were all beautiful, but had a plethora of personalities. When one had issues he couldn't deal with, another was waiting in the wings with a completely different set of crap. When he got tired with that, there was another chick, from another place, with a whole new set of life experiences and character flaws.

At least that's how it was starting to feel. Still, in the midst of several failed relationships, Randy couldn't help feeling optimistic about this date. Sometimes he thought that being so hopeful about relationship after relationship was a little bit girly. It had just the briefest hint of fluffy kittens and brightly-colored rainbows, he knew. But he couldn't stop himself from believing that she was out there. Somewhere. Maybe he'd already met her, and just didn't realize it yet. Maybe she was waiting for him at that very moment.


	2. Number One:  Kelly Kelly

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 1 _by Queen of Kaos

**'Number one, we had fun. But it wasn't serious 'cause we were much too young.'

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**

_August 2005_

"RA-A-ND-EEEEE!"

Letting out a long breath, Randy shook his head and squared his shoulders as he made his way across the locker room. It wasn't new, the guys ribbing him. He was always the kid, the daddy's boy, the fuck-up. He couldn't deny he'd given them plenty of reason to ride him over the years, but in the last three months, the teasing had only escelated. Nothing he had ever done seemed to entertain them half as much as when he started dating Kelly Kelly.

Sure, at first the guys had been impressed. Randy had his very own nineteen-year-old Girl Gone Wild. College co-ed style sex with a slightly naive vixen was enough to earn him some respect. Until Kelly stopped being a hot little nineteen-year-old sex kitten and started being an actual nineteen-year-old girlfriend.

The problem wasn't that she was young, per se. Young he could deal with. It was the immaturity that was driving him crazy. Randy wasn't one to build himself up as a pillar of adult behavior, but he realized, at the very least, that he was no longer in the tenth grade. Unfortunately, Kelly wasn't quite as quick to figure it out.

Wordlessly, he made his way to his locker and dropped his bag to the bench, shedding his heavy leather jacket from his shoulders. If he could just ride out the laughter, he could get on with the evening. Once he was suited up and in the ring, nothing else would matter. None of them could make fun of him there.

"Runnin' a little late, Orton," Edge shot from somewhere behind him.

Raising his middle finger, Randy refused to turn around, to face them. If they knew they were getting to him, he would never hear the end of it. This shit was funny when they had been making fun of Adam with Amy, but now? Not so much. "Got lost," he muttered his response.

How they had gotten lost from the hotel to the arena, a ten minute drive, he still wasn't sure, but he could pretty safely bet that it had something to do with Kelly's incessant yammering about how excited she was to be taking him home to meet her family in two weeks, and about how her high school friends were going to be soooo jealous of her 'totally hot boyfriend.'

Most times, he was thankful for a call that would interrupt the verbal beating he took from the guys. But when the bubblegum sounds of N Sync pierced the air in the locker room, he could only try to block out the hooting laughter as he rooted through his jacket pockets for the offending sound. If he'd told her once, he'd told her a million times that she couldn't set her stupid boy band ring tones on his phone. He couldn't walk into the locker room with a fuckin' gay-ass ring tone. They would eat him alive.

"Hey," he answered flatly, his voice low as he tried to ignore the guys moving around him, stepping closer to hear the conversation he was about to have. It was an unwritten code in locker rooms that no phone call was off limits. Most guys warned their wives and girlfriends not to call them when they were at the arena, that they would get in touch once the show was over. Randy's girlfriend didn't seem to grasp the concept of male ego or pride. Or she just didn't care.

The teasing falsetto of John's voice behind him interrupted his train of thought. "Ran-dee, I miss you already," he spoke, his fingers coming into contact with the back of his friend's shoulder.

Twitching, Randy fought to give the man a hint. He knew that John wasn't going to take it, but he could try. "Baby, I'm gonna see you in, like, fifteen minutes."

"But I miss your broad, manly shoulders, Ran-dee," Edge's high-pitched whine mimicked Kelly's, almost too perfectly for Randy's liking. From the corner of his eye, he could see Edge's wrestling boot propped up on the bench beside him. There was no way he was going to be able to get out of this unscathed.

With a sigh, he cast a glance at the gym bag in front of John. "No. I just got here," he reminded her as she whined about the super-fantastic present she'd left for him in his bag. There was no way he was opening that bag in front of his friends. No fuckin' way. "I need to get dressed."

"But you're so far away, Pookie Bear," John pouted, his arms crossed across his chest as he twisted from side to side like a small girl. "All the way in the next room. So . . . far . . . away."

Edge covered his mouth his hand and took a step back to muffle the laughter that bubbled up from deep in his throat. Randy shook his head and tried to lower his voice below their hearing level. "Baby, I told you that I can't do this at work anymore, remember?"

He felt the arms around his sides, hands sliding under his shirt and squeezing at his pecs just before Edge's chin came to rest on Randy's shoulder. "But our love knows no boundaries, my mookie sunshine head."

Throwing his shoulders back, Randy pushed Edge away and huffed loudly. He was in hell. Absolute hell. And while he didn't want them to know that they were getting under his skin, it was impossible not to show it. Kelly was irritating him, even moreso with the Bobsie Twins in his ears. He couldn't take it. Something had to give or he was going to explode.

"Yeah, I'll talk to you in a minute," he finally responded, dropping to the bench. Without thinking, he opened his gym bag to retrieve his trunks and instantly felt his stomach drop. Though he gave a valiant effort, there was no way to zip the bag up before John could snatch the little white teddy bear from the top.

The squeal of Edge's genuine laughter penetrated the otherwise quiet room. He knew Dave was seated just a few lockers down. He knew that the older man was feeling his pain. They'd teased him relentlessly with each new, clingy, young girlfriend he had. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't someone coming to his aide, helping him out of the situation? And why wouldn't Kelly just shut the hell up for thirty seconds so he could think about something other than having a girlfriend?

"It's not their fault," he assured Kelly when she suddenly accused him of being ashamed of her in front of his friends. It wasn't their fault. They did this to everyone. He was just getting tired of being a man on a leash. He was twenty-five-years-old. Didn't he deserve a few minutes to change his clothes in peace? Couldn't he be trusted with that? She'd survived for nineteen years without his constant supervision, so why couldn't she take five minutes now?

"Dude," John gasped, clearing his throat. "Wait, you do it," he thrust the bear to Edge as the pair straddled the bench on either side of their friend.

Licking his lips, Randy raised his eyes to the ceiling. If she pushed much further, if they kept joking, he was going to blow. All of that anger management was about to be for nothing. He could feel it building. "Kelly, please," he pleaded, not with her to stop whining about his friends, but just for her to back off before he did something he didn't want to do. "I'll talk to you later."

"I love you BEARY much," Edge assumed his Kelly persona once again, reading from the bear's pink tee shirt as he wiggled it into Randy's eyeline and pressed the stuffed animal's nose to the tip of his friend's. "Yes, I do," he added in a baby voice that sent John into an uproarious fit he couldn't seem to control.

Setting his jaw, Randy pushed Edge's arm away and rubbed his hand over his forehead. "I do, Kelly," he insisted. He should have just hung up on her - he knew that's what he should have done. But hearing her heart-broken voice, quivering on the verge of tears on the other end of the phone, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could never raise his voice with her or get too mad. Not when she sounded so fragile and breakable. And certainly not in person, when her tearful eyes watched him with such hope and adoration. "What?"

Reaching around Randy, Edge smacked John's shoulder and then held a finger to his own lips, nodding toward the concerned look on Randy's face. The pair waited in rapt anticipation of what the younger man would say next. When he glanced toward them from the corner of his eye, they knew it was going to be good. She was going to force Randy into something that would mortify him, and Randy was going to do it. Because he was a whipped son of a bitch. Or because he loved his friends so much that he knew it would make their day a little brighter. Either way, it was a win for the men flanking Randy.

"I can't," Randy mumbled, the heat bleeding from his neck to the tips of his ears and then over his cheeks. "You know I love you," he whispered as quietly as possible, hearing John's snicker at his side. "Just because I don't say it like that," he started, the muscles in his jaw tensing. Why couldn't she just let it go? He mumbled something so low the men at his sides couldn't discern it.

Randy knew that John was looking at Edge behind his back. He knew that the two men were wondering what had just happened, but he couldn't think about them. Not with Kelly tearing up on the other end of the phone. God, those tears broke his heart. Even when he knew he was going to pay for it. "I said I wuv you, too, Cuddle Bunny," he managed to choke out a little louder.

Quickly snapping the phone shut, he dropped his head between his shoulders and waited for the onslaught of laughter. He was going to pay for that. And he couldn't help thinking that maybe he deserved that. Maybe he should pay. He was whipped. He had given in to baby talk with his girlfriend in front of his friends. Maybe he deserved to be mocked and ridiculed.

"Wow," John finally said. "I. _Wuv_. You. Too," he repeated slowly, deliberately.

As though he could no longer hold it back, a chuckle forced its way out of Edge. "Cuddle Bunny." And the dam broke. Neither Edge nor John could stop themselves from chortling at the sound of the nickname spoken into the air again. "Dude," Edge finally managed to collect himself. "We gotta go," he pointed to the door just before erupting into another fit of laughter.

As the door clanged shut behind them, Randy ran his hands over his face and collected himself before quickly stripping out of his jeans and tee shirt. The only sound in the emptying locker room was a soft laugh down the bench when Randy sat to lace his boots. When he followed the sound, he couldn't help feeling a little resentful toward the older man. "What're you laughin' at?"

Lifting his head to meet Randy's eye, Dave stood and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't," he pointed a finger at his former teammate. "You are just as bad as those guys, Orton, and you know it," he reminded. If anyone knew what it was like to sit on the other side of a ribbing, it was Dave after getting off the phone with his ex-wife while Randy was in the Evolution limo. As far as he was concerned, every guy who was worth shit in a relationship was a little bit whipped. And the ones who rode out the teasing and realized it? They were the lucky ones.

He was right and Randy knew it. Teasing was part of locker room fodder, and everyone was subject to it at all times. If you could take it, you earned the right to dish it out. If you could dish it out, you earned the right to take ten times more of it than you had before. It was a cycle, and one that he fully understood.

What he didn't understand was why Kelly couldn't just let him be the same guy he'd always been at work. He wasn't asking her to stay away. He wasn't trying to hide her from his friends. He really didn't care if they all knew she was his girlfriend. But did she have to be on him all the time? It was like she had to mark her territory, had to hold on to him so that nobody else tried to catch his eye. So none of the other woman, ones he had dated before, or would think about dating in the future, thought that it was okay to move in on her man. Her property.

He was the kind of guy who liked having a girlfriend. But being owned by one was something else entirely. Stepping into the hallway, he knew that he couldn't do it anymore. As soon as they got back to the hotel, he was going to be his own man again.


	3. Number Two:  Melina

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 2 _by Shannygoat

**'Number Two, felt more true with each line.'

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**

February 2005

The club wasn't so crowded that the patrons had to yell over a sea of noise to carry on a normal conversation. In fact, with a handful of exceptions, the remaining WWE roster appeared to be the only ones there. That usually happened when the house lights came on and people scurried away after seeing what they had been flirting with all night. After a revelation like that most of his friends had returned to the table to have one final drink before dragging themselves back to their hotel to catch a few hours of sleep. While his other cohorts, determined to have a good night, only to wake up to a coyote ugly partner in the morning, left with said partners in a beer-goggled daze. Those would be the ones that they would joke at breakfast.

Randy Orton didn't have to worry about any of that. Even with the offensive lights on in the smoky establishment, his girl still looked better than all of theirs combined. He was a lucky bastard. At least that's what his friends thought, and honestly they were right. They didn't get much hotter than the woman he knew he would be settling into bed with tonight.

With a smile, Melina walked from the dance floor toward the table. She _was_ hot and not just in looks, either. She had pulled her long dark curls up on top of her head, to cool off most likely. Dancing like she had been, she must've been burning up. The sheen of sweat covering her made her skin glow and the hard and heavy breaths she took made her abundantly ample chest, encased in a halter-top, seem even larger, if that were possible. She tugged on her barely there micro-mini skirt, as if pulling it down was going to cover anything, before winking at him.

He at least thought she would have stopped by the table before heading for the bar. Wishful thinking on his part, no doubt. But the only affection he received from her was watching the sway of her hips from behind before she sat on the stool and completely ignored the fact that he was there.

"Did you see the beast Dave was dancing with? She was definitely a booga-bear." Shelton Benjamin had a habit of being really loud when he was drunk. And judging by the volume at which he was speaking he was ripped off of his ass by now.

Randy nodded trying like hell not to watch his girlfriend flirt with the bartender for free drinks. He knew this was her routine. When she and her girls went out they subscribed to the 'use what you got to get what you want' mentality full throttle. And they weren't stopping just because a boyfriend or two were sitting at the table only a few feet of them. "She was alright. Put a few teeth in her mouth and I'm sure she's a lovely girl."

Chris Jericho raised his glass in agreement before titling back to swallow the shot. "What happened to the corn fed farmer's daughters? I thought these one horse towns were supposed to be filled with blonde farm girls that wear tied up flannel shirts and Daisy Dukes. It's a fucking travesty, is what it is."

Randy's jaw clinched watching the way Melina leaned to her right, resting her weight on the bar, to talk to the local sitting beside her. The angle in which she sat and the direction of dude's eyes made it pretty apparent that whatever her chest was saying to him was infinitely more interesting than what her mouth was. "It ain't so bad."

The key was to act natural. If his friends suspected for even a moment that he was jealous, one of two things would happen. Either in their drunken wisdom they would offer the stupidest advice known to man, or they would take it upon themselves to beat the hell out of that poor unsuspecting schmuck.

"So says the man with the hot ass girlfriend." Shelton's eyes rolled before draining the last of his beer.

All eyes turned toward the sounds of chanting and clapping that came from the bar. They watched as Melina stood from her seat and stuck her fingers in her mouth to stretch her lips. Bending at the waist so that half of her ass cheeks were on display for everyone, she put her mouth around the rim of the shot glass. Without the use of her hands she threw her head back, performing the perfect Blow Job shot. The image alone was enough to make the men at the table moan behind their drinks.

Yeah, Randy had it made. That's what he told himself. Melina had been the conquest of all conquests. She was the one woman that half of the locker-room had tried at one point or another to get with. And though she was a sweetheart who got along with everyone she didn't exactly seem to jump at the idea of settling down. She was more of the buddy type. She was definitely the girl that would hang out with the guys, dancing with half of them and flirting for free drinks out of the rest. But when it came time for anything more, anything physical, it was no dice.

It came as a shock when one day Randy ran some game and the shit worked. He had all but given up trying to get her to notice him. But when they were all messing around in catering and he had said something to the effect that he was looking for something to do and it happened to be her, things changed. It must have been his lucky day because she asked him out, one thing lead to another and, lo and behold, they were an item.

From the outside looking in they were the perfect couple. Three months, longer than any relationship she had been known to have, and they seemed just as happy as they could be. They had this 'when we go out you do your thing, I'll do mine' thing that all of his friends were envious of. That didn't stop the occasional quip about how he must be a pussy-whipped motherfucker because no real man would let his girl get away with half of the shit that she did with other guys. But that was the way their relationship worked. His boys didn't understand.

The problem was Randy didn't understand it, either. The first month had been great. Melina was so much more than he expected. Not only was she beautiful, but she was smart, funny and sweet, albeit a little prickly. She knew what she wanted and she was determined to get it... plus, she didn't take much of his shit. He learned quickly what she would and wouldn't stand for. And though he did everything to prove to her that the 'hit and split' image the guys all had of him was just that, an image, it seemed that the more he opened up to her, the more guarded she became. It was almost as if now that the chase was over she was bored.

Randy's eyes lifted at the sound of Melina's giggle and the sight made him cringe. Local yokel's index finger was slowly trailing down her arm and he was bit too close for Randy's comfort. "I'm calling it a night, fellas. I'll see you tomorrow." Now he had deal with this shit. He should have left her ass at the hotel.

Randy had made the mistake before of running up on Melina and whoever she was flirting with at the moment. That shit had escalated to just short of World War III. She was NOT the type to tell what to do. But like a good boyfriend, he had learned from his mistakes and understood how she needed to be handled. Three months had taught him to approach the subject carefully. And instead of walking to the bar with guns blazing, he swallowed the adrenaline coursing through his veins and planted a smile on his face. "You ready to go?" He gently gripped the back of Melina's neck, massaging the skin and causing her to tilt her head at the feeling.

She batted her drunken lids at her boyfriend and gave him a sarcastic smile. "No. I think I'm gonna hang out with…" She looked at the local raising her brows for his name.

"Tim."

"Yeah. Me and Timmy are gonna have one more shot." She leaned in and brushed her shoulder against Tim's before signaling to the bartender to set them up for another round. "You go ahead. I'll see you back at the room later."

It was as if all of the things they had talked about didn't mean shit to her. Randy wasn't demanding, he totally understood that she liked to go out and have a good time. But it came to a point where it wasn't partying anymore; it was just down right disrespectful.

It was bad enough that he was completely ignored while dancing with her. She was most content to turn her back to him, grind her ass against his pelvis while flirting with her eyes and touching herself provocatively, staring at another guy. And when she just walked away to dance with that clown without paying Randy a second thought, he had swallowed it down. He even sat quietly while the remaining guys in the bar watched her do her shot…more like stare at her bare ass while doing a shot, not that he was going to bitch about that, either. But still, that was _his_ ass. She shouldn't be showing it to anyone but him. And he knew damn well she only wore that little-ass skirt so that everyone else would be looking at it.

This was bullshit and frankly he was fed up. He had enough of that place but he couldn't just leave without her. The rule was simple: we come together, we leave together. How hard was that? And he'd be damned if he was going to pull up a chair and wait for her and her new friend to decide that they were done.

"Come on, Mel. I'm tired." Clasping a hard hand down on Tim's shoulder, Randy squeezed. "And I'm sure _little Timmy_ here is tired, too." This wasn't him. He didn't go around intimidating guys that he could break in half without trying. But he knew he wouldn't be able to get her to leave. His only choice was to make Tim see that he really was ready to go.

Nodding nervously, Tim agreed. "It was nice meeting you." He couldn't scurry to the door fast enough. The last thing he needed was to be on the receiving end of 'roid rage.

Melina suggestively ran her tongue over her top lip and her eyes sparkled in Randy's direction. That little display of aggression had turned her on. He knew that it would. But why did it seem to be the _only_ time she was turned on by him lately? "I love it when you get all Ike Turner on me." She grabbed her purse before intertwining her fingers with Randy's, ready to leave.

"Yeah." He answered flatly, walking with her to the door.

The drive back to the hotel was as silent as the walk to the car had been. There were a million things he wanted to say, and a few expletives he wanted shout, but at least in the silence he had time to think. "D'ya have fun?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Melina's head never left the back of the seat when she turned to face him. He knew for sure that soon her hand would go to her hip and her finger would start wagging in his face. "Of course I did."

Was it even worth the argument anymore? She didn't understand. No. She understood, she just didn't fucking care. It was her way or the highway. She had made that perfectly clear to him from day one. "Of course you did." Mumbling under his breath, Randy wheeled the car into the hotel's underground parking garage and pulled into his numbered spot.

It took a second after turning off the ignition before he attempted to reach for the door handle. A simple shake of his head and noticeable chewing of his bottom lip forced Melina's eyes to narrow in his direction and the entire energy of the car to change. "What Randy?" She sounded annoyed as if she wasn't in the mood to hear his shit again.

"I just…" He really liked her, but why? Were they anything more than great sex? They were friends, but were they anything more? He didn't want a bed buddy; he wanted a girlfriend in more than title alone. Sure, they had their real couple moments but those times were few and far between. Having a girlfriend was supposed to be about sharing with another person. Not watching the other person share with everybody but him. "I just don't understand."

Letting out a sigh, Melina leaned her weight on her elbow resting on the console. "Baby. You know how I get when I'm out with my girls. We have fun. That's all it is." She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat looking out the front windshield. "I don't know why you get so bent out of shape about it. You know I love you and I'm coming home to you at the end of the night. So what's the problem?"

That line had worked on him so many times before. But now he wasn't sure if it was enough. Their problem was bigger than the erection that she could cause. Was being with her worth hardly recognizing himself anymore? Melina was incredible but at what price was he willing to be with her? Why was he constantly bending to do what she wanted if she wasn't bending back?

It was those damn splits that got him. It had to be. That, and when they were good they were great. She was truly his friend and if he could spend more time with her would. But times like these, the times where he could ring her damn neck, he wondered where the payoff was. He had never chased after a woman, especially one that was supposed to be his, so hard in the twenty-four years of his life. Now the question was did he really want to catch her?

Her sculpted nail ran up his arm to lighten the mood and she smiled when his eyes closed at the sensation. "Let's just go upstairs and have a good night. M'kay?"

Without another word, he nodded his head and opened the car door.

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_Note from QoK: I announced this story as a collaboration effort, so I thought I would let you know that the next chapter is going to be written by deConstruction. _


	4. Number Three:  Jeff

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 3 _by deConstruction

**"Number three, chemistry. But inevitably wrong for me."

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**

Randy sat in agitated silence in his car. His thumbs tapped over and over again on the steering wheel, beating out a disjointed rhythm that matched the one in his heart. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he felt this nervous. It wasn't like this was the first date he had ever been on, nor was it the first time he and mutually agreed to take 'the next step' with someone. He felt like some dumb high school nerd about to lose his virginity on Prom Night.

In an effort to get that image out of his head, he turned his head towards the passenger seat. Resting comfortably was a bottle of white wine and a pretty bunch of white daises. He thought the flowers were a nice touch. At least, he had when he'd picked them up. Now he wasn't so sure. Was there some kind of etiquette he should be following? Was their a hidden meaning behind the gesture of giving someone flowers? If there was, it was totally lost on Randy. He was a simple guy of simple tastes, and he knew traditionally you gave flowers to someone that you liked.

Wow, was that a scary thought! He liked them? Something about it sounded strange in his head, even though he'd been unconsciously aware of it for a long time. He really did like his date for the night. They were one of the few people that could completely put him at ease to the point where he felt comfortable in his own skin - a monster feat in itself. That soft southern accent and loving, if slightly amused looks were all it took to settle the raging ego that demanded attention. Randy didn't know if it was love that he was feeling, but it certainly felt good. So why shouldn't he go with it?

In many ways, his date was good for him, in so much as they were strong in qualities that Randy himself was weak in. Randy was impulsive and hot tempered, his date was analytical and relaxed. Honestly, Randy couldn't remember a time when he'd seen this person anything other that calm and collected.

The word 'time' sent alarm bells sounding in Randy's head as the mulled over this thought. Both crystal blue eyes glared intently at his watch, which proudly informed him he was now a whole twenty minutes late for his date.

Cursing himself for getting so caught up in what tonight meant for him, Randy grabbed the bottle of wine and the flowers with a grunt. Locking his car behind him, he cautiously trudged along the path that cut through the front garden. Night was upon him, the sun giving out its last crimson rays as it melted into the horizon in the distance. High above, stars were awakening, glinting down at Randy as he slowly edged his way towards the front door. His shoes echoed with heavy thuds on the wood as he took the few steps up onto the porch.

Clearing his throat, he timidly raised his fist. In connected gently with the door in a knock, as Randy tried to figure out why the butterflies in his stomach were mutating into a heard of elephants trampling around.

A crash from inside brought a smile to his mouth, as he heard his date curse loudly in that thick southern accent. The next thing Randy heard was somebody scrabbling with the lock on the door. Finally it creaked open, exposing the homely glow of the houses' interior which flooded out onto porch.

Leaning on the door in a pair of loose fitting jeans and a white vest was Jeff Hardy. His lips were curved into an amused smile as he took in the sight of Randy. The newly dyed blonde hair of Jeff's had been pulled back into a loose tie at the back of his head. His cheekbones were more pronounced this way, as was the tan you could only get by being in the southern sunshine. Arching one leg, Jeff scratched the back of his calf muscle with his foot, the green eyes never falling from Randy's.

Randy couldn't help but return the smile at Jeff, both because he was pleased to see him, and that he found the smudge of flour on Jeff's cheek actually very cute.

Stretching out his hand Randy gently cupped Jeff's face. His thumb ran softly over the pillow of Jeff's cheek, making a stroking motion to rub the white powder away. Jeff turned his head into the contact, like he were a feline responding to the caress of a human hand. Randy slowly pulled his hand back, displaying the flour on his thumb. Jeff smirked at it, brushing at his cheek even though the powder was all gone already. Just that simple contact had sparked something to life in Randy to the point where he felt like his skin was humming.

There was a bond between the two men that Randy felt both intoxicating and confusing. He'd never been sexually attracted to a man before Jeff Hardy, and he wasn't entirely sure what he felt for Jeff was sexual. But he couldn't deny how powerful it was. The feeling had rooted itself in the pit of his stomach and blossomed out into the rest of his body every time he saw Jeff.

The first time they had kissed had been unbelievable. Randy had never felt chills in his body the way he did when Jeff's lips connected to his. What had started as a drinking game had developed into something else, and yet at the same time felt like a natural extension of their friendship. Orton found himself spending more and more time with Jeff to the exclusion of others. Most of the time they just talked, sharing their lives and hopes and fears with one another. Sometimes they kissed one another like their lives depended on it. It was as though they were filling a gap in the others' life, providing some kind of intimacy they were both lacking in their lives. The kisses could be anything from sweet and tender to powerful and dominating. But something about them felt _right. _

And Randy couldn't deny the masculine satisfaction he felt on the nights they spent together. They had never made love, or had any kind of physical intimacy at that level. But it just felt good to Randy to fall asleep with another man in his arms.

They fell into a comfortable companionship, something Randy treasured on those lonely nights on the road. He had few close friends, and mostly kept himself to himself as much as possible. Now that he felt this close to Jeff, he realised he had a duty to preserve their friendship. He had Jeff in his life, and while he struggled to categorise what Jeff was to him, he knew what they had was real - if only he could figure out what it truly was. They were colleagues, friends, confidants and after tonight, they could be lovers.

"You're early."

Jeff's voice snapped Randy back to the present, and he felt the blush creeping from the hollow of his neck up to the very tips of his ears. He grinned foolishly, shaking his head from side to side like a stubborn child refusing to acquiesce to an order of bedtime from their parents.

"I'm like twenty minutes late." Randy clarified, nervously rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck. Jeff glanced at his own watch, raising his eyebrows as he realised what time it actually was.

"Damn, is it that late? I haven't even showered yet." He chuckled softly, his southern timber sending chills rippling down Randy's spine. Pinching his vest between his thumb and fore finger, Jeff tugged it to his nose to back a big sniff. Pulling back, he made of show of making a face to register his disgust. The sea green eyes glinted at Randy in amusement. Carefully, they moved from Randy to the bunch of daises he held in his hand and back again. For the second time in as many minutes, his eyebrows shifted upwards on his forehead.

Randy stammered, glancing from his flowers to Jeff's face, desperately trying to gage the expression it held. "These…uh - these are for you."

Randy thrust the bouquet into Jeff's hands, shuffling his feet nervously beneath him as he watched his brow furrow softly. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! You brought a guy flowers? Could you be any more retarded? _

Jeff's face was unreadable as he looked back up at Randy. "Nobody has ever brought me flowers before. This is…" Jeff obviously picked up on Randy's embarrassment and smiled affectionately. Stepping closer to Randy, he gently pressed his lips against Randy's, his hand reaching the massage the back of his neck. Breaking the kiss, Jeff rested his forehead against Randy's for a second. "…this was really nice. C'mon inside."

Randy allowed himself to be led into Jeff's North Carolina home. Immediately, his nostrils were filled with the scent of home cooking. It reminded him of his childhood, when his mother would slave in the kitchen for hours to prepare a feast for his father and the boys from the company when they visited town. Jeff had obviously been busy, and smiled as he watched Randy savouring the scents of his kitchen.

Taking the bottle of wine from Randy, Jeff told him to sit down as the retrieved two glasses from his cupboard. Uncorking the bottle, he poured two glasses before settling on the corner of his rustic wooden table in front of Randy.

Accepting his glass, Randy smirked at Jeff. "You cook?"

Jeff nodded, taking a long deserved sip of the sweet wine. "I do. Matt tells me I'll make someone a perfect housewife some day." Randy exploded with laughter, having to place his glass down onto the table to stop him spilling his drink. "Seriously, I really enjoy it. It helps me relax after the stress of being on the road. I've gotten pretty good at it actually. I make a mean pecan pie. You like pie?"

Randy stared open-mouthed at Jeff. He wasn't sure which had stolen his ability to speak more - the fact that he couldn't tell if Jeff was making some kind of innuendo to him, or that Jeff's sock covered foot was gently running the length of Randy's inner lower leg.

"Uh," he replied, clearing his throat at the same time, "sure. Cherry pie is my favourite."

Jeff smirked in amusement, holding his glass just from his lips as he muttered. "Me too. Hopefully if you like the meal enough I'll be getting a slice tonight."

That was too much for Randy, evident by the fact he showered Jeff in a mouthful of wine that spewed from his mouth in abject shock. Jeff winced slightly, beads of saliva and white wine glistening over his face and neck and upper chest. His smile was genuine enough, but it did nothing to calm Randy's dancing nerves.

"I figure I could say something about you spraying on my face, but judging by your last reaction I think I'm afraid what you'll spit up next." Jeff chuckled, scooting off the edge of the table and retrieving a towel to pat at his face.

Randy sat in silence in his chair, his face burning red to the very tips of his ears. His mouth continued to opened and closed as he watched Jeff toss the towel to the side. "Okay," Jeff continued, "I really need to shower now."

With a wink, Jeff headed for the stairs adjoining the kitchen. Heading up the stairs, he left Randy alone to his humiliation. As soon as he was sure Jeff was gone, he slapped the heels of his palm against his forehead, muttering curses at himself for acting like such a fool. This just wasn't him. Randy Orton didn't get nervous, and he certainly never made a fool of himself in that kind of way. Was what it about being around Jeff Hardy that made him feel so unsettled?

Deciding it was better to apologise now instead of leaving his humiliation to fester, Randy immediately got up from the chair and followed Jeff up the stairs. Taking two at a time, he was at the top in a matter of seconds. Following the sound of running water along the landing, he noticed that door to Jeff's bedroom was slightly ajar.

Slipping inside, Randy carefully pushed the bedroom door to a close behind. The muffled sound of Jeff in the shower was oddly comforting, with Hardy singing happily of key. Unable to satiate his curiosity, Randy gave himself a quick tour of the room.

On the bedside cabinet were a collection of pictures. The biggest one showed Jeff and his brother Matt, their father standing proudly between them. A smile twitched at the corner of Randy's mouth, finding something of a connection with Jeff when it came to family. It was important that the person he wanted be with understood the importance of family. Placing the photo frame back down, the corner of Randy's eye registered the corner of a box poking out from beneath the bed.

Glancing to the en suite bathroom door, Randy chewed his bottom lips nervously. Technically, it was snooping. But what Jeff didn't know couldn't hurt him right?

Having no preconceptions of what he was about to find, Randy carefully knelt in front of the box. Pulling it further out from beneath bed, the polished wood made a dull sound as it caressed against the carpet. This thing was heavy!

Placing his hands on either side of the lid, Randy tilted it back with care.

"Fuck me!"

The squeal of utter shock was stifled as he slapped his hand immediately over his mouth. With a trembling hand, Randy reached into the box and withdrew the blue latex butt plug that had shocked him. The roughly conical shaped object stood proud in his grip, both crystal blue eyes widening to bursting point as he registered the length and thickness of the object. Twisting it slightly in his hand, Randy found himself studying it. His thoughts skipped happily to exactly _where _an object like this would go, and the dimensions of the object caused him to feel suddenly light headed.

Just as he started to feel woozy at the thought of what Jeff might do with it, Randy became very aware of the shower turning off behind him. Swearing out loud in fear of being caught, Randy jumped to his feet and cracked his shin against the wooden box in the process. Yelping in pain, he twisted one hundred and eighty degrees and fell back first onto the bed. He had completely lost track of the sex toy as he had hugged his shin to his body. Whimpering softly, Randy rubbed the sore area in his leg, hoping Jeff hadn't heard any of the noise he was making.

However, that was to be the least of Randy's worries. The mechanical growling to the left of him sent a wave of pure terror flooding through his veins. In near paralysing fear, he managed to turn his head to left to see what exactly it was making that ungodly sound. In a scene that could have been taken directly from a gay version of the Godfather, Randy became aware of the butt plug laying inches from his head. It stared at him without seeing at all, the vulgar phallic representation chuckling at him as the motor whirred inside. It seemed that the object held one more nauseating surprise for Randy as it vibrated angrily against the covers.

Perhaps it was Randy's imagination, but he was certain it was creeping across the bed toward him. His mouth twisted into a silent scream as he extracted himself from the bed, pressing a pillow against his chest as some kind of shield. The butt plug refused to retreat, shaking its way further across the covers, aimed directly towards where Randy was stood.

In an act of pure defiance, and a little stupidity, Randy swung the pillow in a swift arc. It connected hard with the toy, swatting it away from Randy. Realising too late that he had used too much force, the plug sailed through the air, twisting violently before slamming hard against the far wall. Tumbling to the floor with a thud, it rolled awkwardly to the side, vanishing beneath Jeff's wardrobe. The fall must have done some kind of damage as the motor which had been vibrating angrily seconds ago had faded away into a gently splutter and then nothing at all.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!" Wondering what anyone would say if could see him now, Randy puzzled out what to do next. Deciding what the only obvious choice was, Randy took a deep breath for courage. Preparing to launch himself across the room to retrieve the object, Randy was finally out of time as the bathroom door opened and Jeff stepped out in nothing but a towel. Too late to stop himself, Randy collided with Jeff, pushing them both backwards against the wall. "Jeff! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Randy looked on in exasperation as Jeff simply smiled. "My pleasure."

Blushing again, Randy let Jeff up off the wall and trudged back to the bed. Taking a seat on the corner, he felt his head drop into his hands and his fingers rand back through his short spiked hair. "This night is nothing like I imagined it would be."

Jeff continued to stand, pushing his damp hair back from his face. "What did you imagine it to be?" His voice was gentle as both hands removed the towel from his waist and tossed it onto the laundry basket.

Finally looking up from his feet, Randy came eye level with Jeff's manhood. Unable to hide the shock on his face, he didn't know where to look. "I…uh…I though tonight, you and me were going to…well, you know…have sex…but…I mean now that I've seen…or you've shown me…oh god!"

Randy buried his face in his hands, screwing his eyes up in an attempt to force the image of Jeff's butt plug and penis from his mind.

Taking a seat next to him on the bed, Jeff softly slid his arm around Randy's shoulders. "Randy, dude, what are you trying to say?"

Randy's head shot up, a look of unbridled fear in his eyes. "Jeff, I like you and all but I seriously can't let you fuck me…" Randy's voice trailed off into a near silence, "I think you might split me in half…"

Jeff threw his head back into explosive laughter, eventually collapsing back onto the bed. Randy's brow furrowed, clearly confused by the reaction he got from Jeff. "Why are you laughing? What's so funny? Seriously man, shut up! I've been so nervous about this entire thing all day, and I don't know why. Stop laughing!"

Watching Randy pout his bottom lip sent Jeff spiralling into another fit of giggles. His sea green eyes twinkled with amusement as he eased himself to sit back up. "You are such a tool Orton, I swear. Why do you think you're so nervous about being with me huh?"

Randy looked lost. "I honestly don't know."

Jeff smiled knowingly. "Because I'm not what you want Randy." Both of Orton's eyebrows arched on his forehead, but Jeff silenced him with a raise of his hand. "I know you like me man, and we kinda fit together. But _'kinda' _isn't enough. This isn't what you want - I'm not what you want, and I'll be damned if I let you settle. That's why you're so screwed up about this so much. You're trying to tell yourself that because you like you must want to have sex with me. Doesn't work like that dude."

Randy licked his lips in concentration. "But I feel something every time we're together man. I can't put it into words, but it's powerful. It's like a thousand sparks burning underneath my skin. Sure that has to mean something, right?"

"That's called chemistry," Jeff clarified, "and you're right, we do have it. But that doesn't mean we're right for each other. You may not know what you want man, but you do know it's not me. We're still good though. I know you value our friendship as much as I do. We might be wrong for each other when it comes to love, but we'll always be tight."

Randy fell silent, obviously mulling over what Jeff had said. Deep down somewhere beneath the superficial layer of comfort he felt whenever they were together, Randy knew he was right. They did connect on a deeper level, but that wasn't enough. They weren't a perfect fit, despite how much Randy wanted them to be. Even chemistry wasn't enough to make a bond into something it wasn't meant to be.

Sighing softly, he smiled at Jeff, again thankful for having such a wise person in his life. "I guess you're right."

Jeff shrugged his shoulders. "Always am."

"In that case," Randy smirked, "I don't have a problem telling you now that you've got an extreme taste in sex toys." Randy's eyebrows wiggled as he glanced down at the wooden box that was still protruding from beneath the bed.

Jeff took one look at the box and chuckled. "I see you found _Stallion_ then."

Randy exploded with incredulity. "Stallion?!"

"Some people name their stuffed toys. I happen to name my dildos." Jeff turned to look into Randy's face as he explained in a matter of fact voice. He was obviously being completely serious with him. Both men held the gaze for a moment before collapsing into unrestrained laughter.

Randy had clearly relaxed, the tension of the entire evening draining away from his body as he finally realised how Jeff fitted into his life. He was important, but he wasn't the person to share his life with. Leaning onto the bed, he watched contentedly as Jeff got dressed, sliding on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt with some random band's logo painted across the front. Turning back over his shoulder, Jeff grinned at Randy. "You'd better be hungry Orton, I slaved over that hot stove for hours for you. If I ain't getting in your pants, you're going to eat every damn scrap I feed you."

Randy nodded with a soft chuckle. "Your place is in the kitchen bitch. And your pie better be good!"

"I guess you'll never know." Jeff countered with a knowing smirk. Both men laughed together as Randy pulled himself up from the bed. Slapping his hand onto Jeff's back, the two headed out of the room together to share the rest of the evening as friends.

Randy may have realised that Jeff wasn't the person he was supposed to be with, but his friend would always the world to him.

----

**QoK Note: Chapter 4 will be written by Queen of Kaos.**


	5. Number Four:  Trish

**Fool for love  
**_Chapter 5 _by Queen of Kaos

**'Number four, she was too old for me.'

* * *

**

March 2003

"Lookin' for someone?"

Turning, Randy couldn't help the boyish grin that tweaked his full lips. "Yeah, actually," he sighed, wrapping his arm around Trish Stratus's shoulder. "Totally hot chick. 'Bout your height," he smiled full-on when her hazel eyes met his blue ones, both pairs sparkling in amusement. "Blonde, too. Super hot. Supposed to be goin' out with her tonight and I can't seem to find her."

Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Trish tilted her head to the side. "Mm . . . nope. Haven't seen anyone that meets that description." Pulling away from his touch, she patted his bicep cordially. "But if I happen to see someone like that, I'll be sure to send her your way." With that, she hitched her gym bag over her shoulder and headed toward the back entrance door.

Randy had always fancied himself a pretty experienced ladies' man. He was one of the first guys on his football team to turn in his V-card. He had never gone without a date on a weekend. Even in the Marines, he'd found his share of horny women who couldn't get enough of a man in uniform. But there was something about Trish Stratus that knocked him off of his game.

From his first day with the company, he'd had an eye on her. She hadn't really been there much longer than he had been, but to Randy, she was the epitome of everything he wanted from the business. Talent. Wealth. And sex. Trish had all three. In spades. She also had the extra 'it' factor that he couldn't explain, but couldn't get enough of.

When his friend John Cena said that the beauty from Toronto had been putting some feelers out on the young Legend Killer, Randy could barely contain his excitement. Of course, he had to keep it in check. Didn't want to seem like an inexperienced little kid or anything - not for a woman like Trish. She was older. More mature. She had it together.

Even five months into their relationship, she still made him feel like the little boy, the one who had no idea how the world, and especially relationships, worked. The strangest part was that he found himself liking the off-kilter feelings that she evoked in his gut. He liked the way the world spun when they were together. He liked everything about Trish. In fact, he was pretty sure he was crazy in love with her.

In just a few broad steps, Randy caught up to his girlfriend and wrapped his large hands around her small waist. She squealed when he lifted her from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder. "You think you're funny, dontcha?" he teased, tapping his hand against her ass gently.

Trish's trademark giggle echoed through the concrete hallways, giving way to a contented sigh when the balmy night air greeted them in the parking lot. When Randy returned her feet to the ground, she wove her fingers through his and rested her head on his arm. "You got big plans for us tonight, Kid?"

There were only two people in the world that could get away with calling him 'Kid.' His grandfather was one of them. And Trish was the other. It was sort of an inside joke between them. One that she never found nearly as funny when he was calling her his 'old lady.' But she never said it condescendingly. It was affectionate. She had once explained that she had never even considered dating a younger man until he came along. She kind of liked the idea of corrupting his innocence. He didn't have the heart to tell her that his innocence had been obliterated years earlier.

"Cena said some of the fellas are headin' over to a club downtown," he mentioned, unlocking the trunk of the car. "Or Hunter said him and Ric and Dave are headed over to a strip club over on the East side," he added another option before slamming the trunk and leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. After a brief, but firey, kiss he pulled back and rested his hands on her shoulders, the strands of her blonde hair teasing his long fingers. "I know it's technically my turn to pick, but if you asked me real nice, I might be pursuaded to do something with your friends again, I guess."

Trish hooked her fingers into his beltloops and stared up at him through thick lashes. "Or," she started, her smile widening. "We could go back to the hotel and spend some time alone. We haven't done that much lately."

He knew she was right. Trish was always hounding him to stay in the hotel at night after the shows. But there was so much to do in every city he had never seen. There was so much to miss out on if he didn't go out with his friends. They always ended up at the hotel, and they always had hot, steamy sex. What did it matter if they started at three the next morning or ten the night before?

Rolling his eyes, Randy considered telling Trish that it was a boring, old person thing to do, but the way her eyes danced at the thought of a quiet evening in with him? He couldn't tell her no. He could never tell a beautiful woman 'no.' "Alright," he agreed, laughing when she clapped and held her hands out for the keys. "But I get to drive back to the hotel."

Without hestitation, Trish shook her head and held her hands out again. "No deal," she declined. "My car. I drive. Only me."

Though he knew there was no way he could possibly win the arguement, he decided to pout anyway. It was what he did. He was a pouter. Usually, it helped him get his way with girls. That full, bottom lip stickin' out, his crystal blue eyes pleading for a chance. But Trish never fell for it. Ever. She was a hard ass, Trish Stratus was.

They traveled for about five minutes in silence before Randy looked to his girlfriend. "Why don't you ever let me drive your car? I got a good record."

"Have," she corrected, and then instantly touched his hand in the darkness. "Sorry. Habit." She had a habit of correcting his English all of the time. As though having a degree somehow made her more intelligent than him. Randy didn't like it, but if it was her only flaw, he could get over it. "You're twenty-two," she reminded him.

"And?" When she didn't respond, he turned his hand against the center console and felt her palm relax into his. "I don't know if anybody's told you this, Canuck," he waited for the instinctive smile and she didn't disappoint, "But in this country, we can drive at sixteen."

With a nod, she eased the car into the hotel parking lot and killed the engine. "Yes," she agreed, her hazel eyes fixed on him intently. "And I love you, Randy, but I love my car, too. And guys have a tendency to show off," she chose her words carefully. He knew she was trying to avoid another 'I'm not a child' fight. It seemed like they'd had more than a couple of those recently. "Especially younger guys. That's why your insurance rates are so much higher than mine."

It was, by far, the dumbest argument he had ever heard. But if he stood a chance of getting laid when they got back to the room, he would have to keep his mouth shut. She had a tendency to believe whatever she wanted anyway.

Upon entering the room, Trish went directly for the shower, leaving Randy to watch highlights of the night's basketball games on Sportscenter as he contemplated what their friends were doing at the bar without them. He wanted to be the guy Trish wanted him to be, the one who could just shut everything out and enjoy her in the silence of their own room. And usually, when they were at home in Canada or Missouri, he could do that. Because his friends were at home, too. He wasn't missing any action when they were at home.

By the time Randy finished with his shower, Trish was already tucked into the bed, reading glasses on and a thick magazine in her hand. "What are you doing?" he asked as he slid naked into the bed to find her in flannel pajama pants and a tank top.

"Reading," she answered distractedly, turning her face toward him to accept a quick kiss. "Mmm," she smiled when she pulled back. "Minty." And then she returned her eyes to the magazine.

Reading? She was fucking reading? In the bed? When he was naked? What the hell was wrong with her? "Okay, well," he shrugged, taking the magazine from her hands. "I'm here now, so," he grinned cheekily as he folded the magazine. He was about to finish the sentence with a very suggestive statement, until he glanced down. "What is this?"

Trish cleared her throat and took the book back. "It's um," she blushed guiltily. "It's a bridal magazine."

"Yeah, but why you readin' it?" Randy asked, his heart pounding in his throat. It had to be a guy thing, right? All guys freaked out at the sight of that pink cover with that frilly dress on it, didn't they? He wasn't some kind of freak for the fact that his mouth was now bone dry, was he?

Dropping the magazine onto the end table beside her, Trish reached for Randy's hand under the covers. "I guess it's a girl thing," she admitted softly, her eyes focused on the paisly pattern of the bedspread. "Thinkin' about your wedding. Especially when you're in love,"

Randy guessed it was a girl thing, too. Hell, he was in love with Trish, but he was just thinkin' it meant he might get to sneak in the back door now and then. Didn't have shit to do with weddings. "You wanna get married?"

"Well, not tomorrow," she assured him, letting go of his hand to put a hand on his shoulder. As she spoke, her finger nails scraped against the nape of his neck softly. "But eventually, yeah." Finally, she seemed to realize how rigid his body had become with the tension of the brief conversation. Scooting over under the covers, she rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped one thin arm across his sculpted torso. "Relax, baby," she whispered, caressing his skin until his body obeyed the order. "I guess the baby scare just got me thinking."

"The WHAT?" He didn't know how he had managed to free himself from the covers and stand beside the bed, but Randy felt like someone had shot him in the ass with a dart. "Did you say baby?"

"Would that be so bad?" she asked him simply, watching as his face contorted, his mouth opening and closing as though he knew he should say something, but couldn't settle on the right thing. "Well, you don't have to worry," she finally said, her clear eyes narrowing in disappoint as she returned to her side of the bed. "False alarm."

For the first time in ten minutes, Randy felt like he could breathe again. False alarm was good, right? That meant no baby. Jesus, a baby? He couldn't even imagine how badly that would have fucked his life up. Without warning, relief bubbled up in his chest and spilled over his lips in laughter. "Ya know, if you wanted to give me a heart attack, you could have just bought a scary mask and jumped outta the closet at me, Trish," he allowed himself to calm down as he slid back into the bed.

But Trish didn't look relieved. Or amused. Or at all happy with him. "You know that I'm twenty-seven, right?"

"Yeah," he answered easily, still completely unaware of why she looked so pissed off. They had avoided a mass trauma. Why did she look like that bothered her somehow? Did she want . . . Oh, no. She couldn't possibly. They were just kids. They couldn't have a kid. People didn't do that anymore - have kids before they were thirty. Did they?

Swallowing her nerves, Trish launched into the conversation she had really hoped to avoid. She knew that he was younger than she was, but at some point, she had to be honest. She couldn't just date him casually forever. Not when she wanted more. "Well, I'm not a kid anymore, ya know?" she started. "I mean, don't get me wrong. We have fun. A lot of fun. More fun than I've ever had with anyone. But there's more to life than clubs and strippers and fun, ya know? At some point you've gotta think about settling down. Ya know, starting a family? Buying a house. Getting married."

_Yeah, sure_, Randy thought. _There's a point. And it's way, waaaaay down the road_. "I know you know how old I am, Trish. You bring it up all the time." He didn't mean to sound accusatory, but it just came out. She did bring up their age difference a lot. She knew he was young. He was her 'Kid.' Not the guy who wanted to settle down and have a family. At least, not yet.

"Twenty-two," she whispered, her fingers twisting together in her lap as she pondered the meaning of the number she threw around so casually. Randy's eyes were on her, waiting for it to click, for her to understand. Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, she forced a smile and sniffled quietly. "Ya know what? You're right. It's way too early to think about that anyway, right?"

Allowing his body to relax, Randy situated himself against the pillows and stretched out an arm, motioning for her to lay next to him. "I love you, Trish."

Her lips pressed against his tanned flesh before she rested her cheek on his chest. "I know," she responded. "I love you, too, Kid."

Even as he reached to the nightstand, turning off the light and cloaking the room in darkness, he couldn't help staring at the ceiling. He did love Trish. Loved her as much as he knew how to love. But he knew that she was going to want a deeper commitment sooner than he was going to be ready to give it to her. It might not be tomorrow, or the day after that. But soon, love wasn't going to be enough to keep Randy and Trish together.

* * *

_QoK Note: The next chapter has been written by cenasgrl and should be posted by Friday._


	6. Number Five:  Ashley

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 6 _by Cenasgrl

**'Number five, she was sorta famous so it was a story for awhile.'

* * *

**

Randy flew to North Carolina to talk to her. He still loved her. He wasn't sure if he had felt the same way about his previous girlfriends, but he knew Ashley had some sort of spell on him. He thought he had moved on and it felt like it for awhile, but now he wasn't so sure. He genuinely missed Ashley and wondered if he could get another shot. Every time he thought of her, he smiled. She could drink most men under the table one minute, be loving and protective the next, and be the sexiest seductress you've ever seen or want to see.

He knocked on her door and smiled when she answered. "Hey, baby." He said when she greeted him with a hug and kiss. He held her tight and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. He knew she was breathing in the scent of him – that unique, fresh scent that always made her swoon. When her arms circled him, he could hear the little whimper. She was glad to be back in his arms. He could feel it. He buried his face in her neck and breathed her in, that underlying female scent that was distinctly Ashley.

They weren't exactly a typical looking couple. Sure they shared a love of tattoos but that's where it ended. He was a page straight out of Abercrombie and Fitch. She always told him that she loved it, especially the way his clothes fit him. The baggy jeans that he wore that never, in her words, quite contained his thighs. Apparently, according to Ashley, his thighs looked good to a lot of women. She liked his hair, his skin, his lips. She really liked his lips, if he remembered correctly.

She was a page out of Hot Topic. Her piercings drove him crazy-in a good way. Her black nail polish and streaks of color through her blond hair, tight t-shirts, mini skirts and combat boots highlighted her assets, yet were simply cosmetic. He loved the woman underneath it all; the woman who walked around her house in flannel pajama bottoms, Spongebob slippers, no make-up and a pony tail.

She led him to the family room of her home and he immediately recognized that smell. His favorite smell filled the air. She went to the oven and pulled out her homemade peanut butter cookies. She always could have a career in the culinary arts if wrestling didn't work out. The cookies, no matter the flavor, would melt in your mouth. She brought him a plate full with a glass of milk. He loved that. He always whined that he wasn't eight anymore, but couldn't deny he loved the gesture. He popped a cookie into his mouth and let his head fall back against the couch. He savored the flavor and she giggled.

"What happened, Ash?" He chewed and looked over at her, still resting his head on the back of the couch. "Where did we fail?"

She took a deep breath and thought about it. "I don't know." She looked at him and stroked his face. "Too much time apart? Too much going on in our lives? I know I miss you." She gave him that smile.

"I miss you." He leaned towards her and kissed those lips. He loved those lips. She tasted of orange juice, he tasted like peanut butter. A nice, soft kiss turned a little deeper, he couldn't help it. Nothing hot and heavy, just an 'I love you' kiss. "Are you seeing anyone?"

She shook her head. "You?" He shook his head. "I'm still working on getting over you." There it was again, her smile. He loved her smile, it was contagious. She felt the same.

"Will you stay for dinner?" She asked. "I'll make your favorite." She said trying to entice him.

"Marry me." He said when he let another cookie melt in his mouth. Ashley giggled again and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Seriously. What happened to us?"

"I think it was just a combination of things. I think we had too much going on personally and it affected our relationship." She answered and started stroking his face again.

"But what was so damn important we couldn't pay attention to each other?" He regretted the demise to the bottom of his soul.

"It feels like a long time ago, baby. I had Survivor for six months and when Johnny got hurt, it threw you into all his commitments. You're on Raw, I'm on Smackdown. We barely saw eachother, we simply grew apart." That and the tabloid reports of indiscretions, rumors in the locker room that he'd moved on, never ending fans showing up naked at his hotel room doors; but despite it all, she loved him through and through, and he knew it. She knew the Randy Orton away from the spotlight. Away from the clubs, away from the guys, she knew the man and wouldn't trade him for anything. Being his girlfriend was a full time job that required a lot of self confidence and faith and trust. While she normally had all three, she lost them with Randy. He was a very easy person to love and fall in love with, but it was difficult to maintain a relationship.

Randy shook his head as everything came flooding back. This time she kissed him. Kissed him as if she too wanted a peanut butter cookie and she was going to get the cookie from his mouth. She let her tongue tease his in a meticulously slow dance. He pulled her into his lap, cradled her and enjoyed how her body felt against his. Her answer was a soft high pitched moan from the back of her throat. "We need to stop." She whispered into his mouth and attempted to stand. "Will you stay for dinner? I'll start it now. I already have the steaks marinating so all that's required are the sides. Do you want a salad?" As Ashley did her distraction rambling that always brought a smile from him, Randy thought of other things to reduce the tension in his pants.

"Salad's fine. I don't fly out until tomorrow." He added hopeful and she dropped the spoon. There it was. The smirk. "I'd like to stay here if it's okay." He hoped she didn't have plans.

She nervously cleared her throat and said, "I'd like that." She attempted to collect herself and dusted off her clothes as if there was something on them. He could practically see the thoughts rolling around her head: _No sex though. Definitely no sex. No goodbye sex, no thanks for the memories sex. No. No matter how much I beg. He begs. No matter how much he begs. Oh my._

That's what she thought now. Randy couldn't help chuckling. "We can just hang out here if that's okay. Kind of like 'I'll see you around' quality time." _And sex. I want that body one more time. She'll make me beg but she'll give in._

"Sure that's fine. Will you start the grill?" She asked walking away to the kitchen.

He went outside and after starting the grill he leaned on the railing of her deck and looked out at her property. He wondered if this was a good idea. Suddenly playing house as if they'd never separated. Five minutes ago he wanted the world from her; two minutes ago he wanted to make love to her. Who's to say the same things that broke them apart wouldn't happen again? His mom said if it was meant to be, it would happen on its own. He should just let things follow their own path. If he wound up with Ashley, he would love that. If he didn't, there would be another girl for him. She stepped outside and handed him a beer leaning on the railing herself. "I always did love it here." He said as he continued looking out. "It's so peaceful and serene."

She smiled and shook her head. "You're always welcome, you know that."

After dinner, they relaxed in her family room and reminisced. Their favorite and most laughable was a drinking game that included karaoke. They played all the time with John, Dave, Ric, Steph and Paul. His friends, but she had grown to like them too. Everyone's challenge was always 80's music, top 40. The Go-Go's, Bananarama, Duran Duran, anything they could think of that each person would never know the words too. They would play card games that nobody understood sober, let alone drunk off their asses. John was horrible at drinking games and always had to drink. Whoever was out of their drink first had to sing a song. John was always first.

As Randy and Ashley thought back, they both laughed themselves silly, their sides hurt and she had tears flowing down her cheeks. John knew some of the heavier bands and old school rap, as did Dave, so the trick was to pick bands out of their genre. John's fan favorite was The Bangles' _Walk Like an Egyptian_. Dave's was _Do You Really Want to Hurt Me_ by Culture Club. Paul used to even do the dance for _Beat It_. Ric's weakness was Wham!'s _Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go_. Randy fell victim time and time again to animated movie themes, like _Somewhere Out There_. He sang this for Ashley every time and would do his best Feivel impersonation. Hysterics would ensue.

Whenever they went out after supershows, usually most of the roster went and several tables played the game, song after song after song was butchered, but each of them got into the song and received standing ovations from their audience each time. The only one who actually had talent was Jeff Hardy. No matter the song, he had the moves and the voice to carry it off, always resulting in free drinks.

Both of them grew silent as they calmed down and thought back to how much fun they always had together. Ashley was right, distance tore them apart and all that the distance encompassed. Distance would continue to keep them apart. Randy stood and went to her extensive dvd collection and Ashley took this as a clue to make popcorn. They had a connection that transcended words. Finishing each other's sentences was mere child's play. They shared something that connected them internally. Randy watched her and realized their connection was friendship, not love. Well, he loved her and always would, but not lifelong wife kind of love. More best friend love.

As he stood there, he smiled again. She was adorable and he loved her, no question, but now he realized what that love was. She did have a spell on him, she did tug at his heart, but she was that girl that every guy had. That girl who was the most fun to be with, the most loyal, gorgeous and sexy; but your best friend. He was okay with that. As long as he had her in his life, that was good enough.

He popped the movie in and grabbed their drinks. She followed him back to the couch and they both settled in. Randy pulled her to him and cuddled her close. He took a deep breath as the movie started and kissed the top of her head. With his feet resting on the ottoman and the best girl he'd ever met nestled against him, Randy knew without a doubt, things would be great.


	7. Number Six: Kristal

**Note from shannygoat: Of course Queen of Kaos would give me the heavy chapter. I tried to make it as light as possible. But be warned, this chapter has some derogatory remarks. If you have an issue with anything said here, hit me up, not the Queen. This is my chapter; I was given the creative freedom to do what I wanted. This is what came out.**

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 7 _by Shannygoat

**'Number six, why should color matter?'

* * *

**

Wedged between the front door and the screen balancing shopping bags on his thigh, Randy Orton looked at the low hovering grey clouds and sighed. This was his first weekend home in three weeks and all he could think about was putting a couple of steaks on the grill, having a few beers and catching up on the three weeks worth of lovin' that he had been missing.

It wasn't often that Randy got to spend time with his girlfriend and after three months of dating the amount of time they got to spend together seemed like it was becoming less and less. But he didn't complain. Granted, the ideal relationship would have afforded them to actually see each other more, but he really dug her, so he had to take what he could get.

And what wasn't to dig? Kristal Marshal was just about everything he had ever wanted in a woman. She was cuddly without being clingy and she knew what she wanted without being a bitch. Even though she had been a model and was probably the most prissy woman he had ever met, she wasn't afraid to get down in the floor and wrestle with him. Kristal was the best of all worlds. And best of all, she was waiting inside for him.

This weekend was going to be perfect.

The only thing that would have made the start to his weekend more perfect was if Kristal hadn't sent him to Walmart earlier. If there was one thing Randy hated, it was the fucking Walmart. And it wasn't because it was overcrowded and there were never enough cashiers for the number of customers. Randy hated that store because they always sucked him in with those damn price roll backs. He couldn't resist that smiley face, and any price that ended in ninety-seven cents seemed like a bargain.

She had only sent him there to pick up three things, but somehow he ended up spending two hundred dollars. But it was money well spent. And that trip also guaranteed that there was no need for them to leave the house again until Monday morning.

As soon as he opened the door he breathed in deeply and smiled. His house never smelled like potpourri unless Kristal was there. Grown men didn't really give a shit about cinnamon, even though it was actually kind of pleasant. But if she wasn't there, there would be no way in hell his house would smell that soothing. Usually, his house held the faintest smell of piss, courtesy of his Rottweiler puppy. The same puppy that Kristal decided to name, Buttons.

Buttons. What grown man names his dog Buttons and a Rottie, no less? "Hey boy." Dropping his bags to the floor, Randy knelt on one knee to give the excited dog a quick scratch behind the ears. "Where's Mommy, boy?" He wasn't calling that dog Buttons. He just couldn't bring himself to do it. Righting himself, Randy left all but one bag on the floor and followed the dog into the kitchen.

"Hey." Kristal walked around the counter, swaying those hips that Randy couldn't get enough. She was beautiful; honey brown skin, soulful brown eyes, and curves that didn't stop. Maybe it was the way she walked, or maybe it was her hour glass figure, he wasn't sure. But looking at Kristal, he could definitely understand what Cena meant by Nubian Princess.

Randy's brows knitted on their own when he watched her walk. He noticed how she stepped on the balls of her feet which seemed to make her calves more prominent and her thick thighs and hips sashay from one side to the other. Granted it was nowhere near as lethal as her in-ring walk, but her everyday stroll was pretty fucking deadly in its own right.

He would have loved nothing more than to concentrate on that walk a little longer, but something was throwing him off. "Hey to you." He leaned over to press his lips against hers before sliding his hands around her incredibly small waist. "What's with the scarf? You look like Aunt Jemima."

"Shut up." She rolled her eyes before turning away from him.

"But it's cute, baby." He smiled wrapping his arms around her shoulders as he walked behind her into the living room. "Makes you look all domestic."

Twisting out of his grasp, Kristal flopped on the couch, folding her arms and crossing her legs. The way she sat on one hip, turning the slightest bit of her back to him, told Randy right away that she was less than amused by his comment of her being a house servant.

"Well," changing the subject as quickly as possible, Randy tossed the Walmart bag on the couch next to her, "I'm gonna get the food outside before the rain hits." Patting his leg until that Buttons was at his heel, Randy made his way back to the kitchen.

As soon as he opened the refrigerator door a smile crossed his face. The steaks had been marinating all day and judging by the smell of teriyaki and garlic they were going to be delicious. Kristal had tried to suggest smothering them in gravy with onions and green peppers, but that was out of the question. Steaks were made to be slow cooked on the grill, with his mother's marinate. Anything else was an insult to cows everywhere.

Sliding the patio door open he sat the plate on the glass tabletop before wrenching open the cover on the gas grill. With the ignition button depressed, he nodded at the slow warmth building. If his culinary skills didn't dazzle his girl, nothing would.

"Randy?" Kristal's voice pulled his attention and his hand from the grill and he turned his head toward the sound. Maybe if he were quiet and ignored her she would come outside leaving him to actually get the food on before the heavens decided to open up. "Randy Orton?"

With a frustrated grunt, he closed the lid to keep the heat in and crossed the threshold back into the house. "What does she want?" He asked a totally clueless Buttons as the dog ran in a continuous circle chasing his tale. "If you pissed in the living room, _you're _cleaning it up." The amused smile on his face slowly faded and his brow lifted in question. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

Randy had never seen Kristal not put together, nor had he ever seen her real hair. He knew that half of the girls he worked with wore hair extensions, not that he really knew what that meant. All he knew was one day their hair would be shoulder length, the next day it would down to their ass. He had never really paid much attention to it because he had only ever seen the finished product. But this? What in the hell was going on?

Kristal's long and silky brown hair had somehow transformed into a short bushy afro that stuck up in stalagmite formation. That look may have worked on Carlito, just not on his girl. "Randy, what is this?" She totally dismissed his question, paying attention only to the bottle of shampoo in her hand. "I specifically asked you to get Crème of Nature, not Salon Selectives. And where's the conditioner? And what in the hell am I supposed to do with this?" She lifted the box of perm out of the bag and held it up. "Do I look like I want a Jheri Curl?"

Randy looked at the ceiling and narrowed his eyes. This was exactly why he hated shopping for someone else, Kristal in particular. She always got so touchy about things. Like the time he brought her Suave lotion. Her head damn near spun around because it wasn't Nivea. And then there was the pressed powder incident. She had blown a fucking gasket when he came back with some Wet & Wild stuff that he saw in the clearance basket and she bitched because it was entirely too light for her complexion. Like he knew anything about makeup. Didn't it dissolve into the skin anyway? "It's just shampoo." He shrugged, looking down at the long brown hair that rested on her lap as she loosened the corn roll that it had been sewn into. "I couldn't find that Nature Made stuff. And _you_ said you needed a perm. I asked some lady and she handed me this." He pointed to the box.

The look on his face made her roll her eyes. "You didn't even look in the ethnic hair care aisle, did you?" Tossing the bottle of shampoo back on the couch, she shook her head in disgust.

"Ethnic hair care?" His voice held the hint of laugh. Who in the hell heard of ethnic care hair care? Did Walmart even have an aisle dedicated to that? "That's a little racist." Shaking his head, he sat on the couch beside her. "Shampoo is shampoo. If you don't like this, just use the stuff that I have."

Kristal's eyes narrowed sharply as her neck craned slowly to one side. "If I can't use Salon Selectives, what makes you think I can use Head & Shoulders?"

"Kristal. It's shampoo, baby. It's not a big deal." Randy put his arm around her in an attempt to pull her head to his shoulder. It would have worked too, but the feel of her hair on his face made him turn his head away. Her natural hair wasn't silky like he was use to on her. This stuff was coarse and scratchy. This wasn't anywhere closet to _his_ Kristal's hair. "Are you going put that back in?" He hoped to God she said yes.

"Well, _if_ I had a perm, I wasn't going to until next week. I wanted to wear my hair out. But since I don't, I guess I'm gonna have to track it back up. I think I have some bonding glue. It'll hold until I can get it done."

"You put glue in your hair?" He held up a track examining the way the hair had been threaded onto the treads. "Why would you want to glue hair into your head? Why not just let it grow and it'll look like this?"

"Because my hair isn't this texture, Randy." Kristal took the hair extension from his hand and placed it back on top of the others. "My hair doesn't do this, no matter how many chemicals there are."

"Well it should. It's a whole lot easier to run my fingers through than that Macy Gray shit you got going on right now." Laughing, Randy patted at her hair that was standing up on end.

Moving her head away from his hand, Kristal's entire demeanor grew tense. He knew that look on her face well. He had seen it only a handful of times when she actually went off on someone. "That's funny to you? You're an insensitive asshole."

With his mouth gaped open Randy tried to figure out how the conversation had turned that quickly. One minute he was teasing his girlfriend because her hair was all over the place, and now somehow he was insensitive. How did that happen? "What did I do?" He asked his voice and brows rising simultaneously.

"What did you do? You don't know, do you? All you know is your little perfect Randy Orton world and nothing about the world outside of it." Stuffing the tracks on her lap into a bag, Kristal started to gather her other items on the table. "You live in fucking St. Louis. This ain't the whitest town in America, Randy. Black people live here, too. Maybe if you took the time to notice some things about us, you wouldn't sound like such a dumb fuck, right now."

Randy stood completely confused. All he wanted to do was grill some steaks and now suddenly he was in the middle of race relations. "Wait…are you calling me a racist because I bought you the wrong shampoo? That's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard. It's fucking shampoo, not a Klan meeting. I'm not a fucking racist, Kristal. I've grown up around black people and …"

"If you say you have plenty of black friends, I swear I'm going to punch in the fucking mouth." She glared at him while tying the scarf back around her head. Randy could tell by the way she was frantically looking around the living room she was trying to figure out where the rest of her shit was. She was trying to pack up. She was going to leave, the hell with the weekend they had planned. "I didn't say you were a racist. I said you were insensitive. This isn't about the shampoo, Randy. It's about us. It's about the fact that you don't notice or appreciate anything about our differences. Ignoring them is just as bad as talking about them all the time."

Randy had a habit of refusing to listen to anything anybody said if he had already made his mind that he was right. This was a pointless argument. He bought the wrong shit at the store and she was blowing it totally out of proportion. But saying that he was insensitive, that crossed the fucking line. "What the hell do you want from me, Kristal? I'm with you and you're black. Isn't that good enough?"

"I want you to notice that I'm black, Randy!" She threw the bag she was holding to the floor and stood up to match his hostile stance. "I want you to notice that I can't use this shit because it's made for white people. This shampoo strips the oils from your hair, black hair needs oil. That's why they sell shit like hair food and Kemi oil, because our shit ain't naturally oily like yours. I want you to notice that I can't use this fucking perm, because it's what white girls use to make their hair curly. I need to straighten my shit. I can't use Ogilvie. I need Dark & Lovely or Hawaiian Silky or something like that." He had no clue what in the hell she was talking about. He had never heard of half of these products. "I can't use that cheap ass lotion that you do, either. My skin is drier and because I'm darker than you, you can see when I'm ashy. I need lotion with more moisturizer in it. You'd think after a few months together you'd notice this stuff. But you don't. We have genetic and cultural differences, Randy. But you act like things in my culture don't matter to you."

Randy looked at her completely clueless. Obviously this was more than just picking up the wrong items at the store. This was much deeper. It wasn't that he didn't realize that his girlfriend wasn't white, he just didn't ever think about it. "This is what doesn't make sense to me. If I start asking you about the trials and tribulations of being black, we wouldn't be having this conversation, but from what I can tell, you don't know about the "struggle" anymore than I do. You grew up in a whiter neighborhood than I did. And The Price is Right & Smackdown damn sure ain't the blackest shows on TV. Yet somehow you know what it's like to be hood rich and I'm insensitive because I don't. I don't expect you to know what it's like to be white."

"It's not about trials and tribulations. And I know enough about white people because that's all we're taught to know. You have four aisles in the store, we get one. You can get your hair cut by any barber; I have to ask if they know about ethnic hair before I can let someone touch mine. That's not the problem. That's the way it is, and I don't even think about it. This isn't a black and white issue. This is a you and me issue. You don't notice _me. _I happen to be different from you." Randy watched as she slipped her feet into her sandals and grabbed her jacket from the chair by the couch. She was serious. This was a conversation that she wasn't backing down from. Kristal meant something, she meant it. And right now she meant to leave.

Kristal Marshal was smart and fun and he loved being around her. When he looked at her he just saw a beautiful woman that made him happy to be around. Her race was secondary. Surely that had to count for something. Walking up to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "But I don't see you as black. You could be purple or green for all I care." He spoke softly, pleading with her eyes to show his sincerity.

"Don't do that shit. There aren't purple or green people. That's like saying that the differences between us don't exist." She pointed a sculpted nail in his direction, the lines in her brow steadily deepening the harder she looked at him. "Even if they're not important to you, they're still there and they're important to me. I embrace our differences. I think they enhance us individually and as a couple. So don't sit here make them trivial by comparing who I am to some shit that doesn't exist."

Randy folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. This carefully laid out weekend was quickly turning to shit. She had her stuff in her hands and her jacket on her back. With a scarf on her head and all, Kristal was pissed beyond a pouty lip and kisses. "So what, you want me to be all wigged out like Cena?"

Throwing her hands up in frustration she shook them with a groan. "I don't want you to change who you are. I just want you to see _me_. I'm black. Your girlfriend is black. I would hope that you'd understand that some things affect me the same way they do other black people. Like, I don't like being called Aunt Jemima. That's fucking offensive and it's ignorant as all get out. And Macy Gray? Why not just call me a nappy-headed jungle bunny?" She regarded the shocked look on his face. "Yeah. That comment was just about that ignorant. I wouldn't do that shit to you. I wouldn't call you a cracker or some shit like that. I may not act like the blackest black person in the world, but I still am."

Randy watched as she made her way to the door. This was so wrong. The grill was still smoking, no doubt at optimal steak temperature. Buttons was in the kitchen happily eating his dog food. The weekend was just starting. Everything was just how they had planned it. But for some reason Kristal still was leaving. "So tell me about what it's like to be black. Why don't you just fill me in on life in the hood?" He didn't mean for his tone to sound so patronizing, but he wanted the conversation to be over.

"I _wanted_ to be your girlfriend, Randy, not your ethnic encyclopedia."

"Kris, this is fucking stupid. If this is some black thing…" He rolled his neck in a mocking fashion, stopping instantly when he saw the anger dance in her eyes.

Shaking her head, she giggled softly before opening the door. "You can kiss my black ass."

He stood there silently as she closed the door behind her. Did she really just leave? Did he fuck up that bad? He didn't think that what he did was so wrong. But he could understand why she was hurt by it. She had always asked him about himself, his family, upbringing, and traditions. He just took it for granted that hers were the same. He didn't mean anything by it. It wasn't that didn't care, he just didn't know enough about her or their situation to care. Did that make him insensitive?

Maybe she had a point. Maybe he did need to start noticing the world around him. It was just too bad that that world wouldn't have her in it.


	8. Number Seven: Michelle

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 7 _by Queen of Kaos

**'Number seven should be revvin, but she wanted to get deep too fast.'

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**

Stepping from the confines of his sleek, black Hummer, Randy breathed deeply. And promptly grasped his chest. Normally, he loved breathing in the fresh air after a long road trip, but there was nothing fresh about the Florida air in July. It was stuffy and hot and humid, and he could feel his tee shirt beginning to stick to his skin before he even made it to the front door of the house from the driveway.

Withdrawing the key from his pocket, he let himself into the foyer of his girlfriend, Michelle's, modest home. It wasn't nearly as impressive as his own St. Louis dwelling, but Randy couldn't deny there was something homey about Michelle McCool's place. Something lived-in and comfortable. Something warm and inviting.

Stopping next to one of the vents, he closed his eyes and allowed the cool of the central air to wash over him. He liked heat - and he especially liked the fact that his girlfriend's hometown climate kept her in bikinis more often than not - but he didn't like to feel suffocated. Humidity weighed on his chest and he hated that feeling more than any other.

Randy made his way up the stairs, shedding his white tee shirt as he went. One glance out the bedroom window told him that Michelle was sunning herself next to the pool. Now, that was a sight he could behold for hours. If there was one thing he could say for his girl, it was that her body was out of control. Out. Of. Control.

There were other things, he had to admit, glancing at the top of her dresser. She was brilliant. Or as close to it as anyone he'd ever dated. Not just funny or astute or observant. She had a Masters' degree - one that she didn't obtain by the skin of her teeth. She was half-way to a Doctorate. He finally found himself a woman who was as intelligent as she was beautiful. It was like hitting the jackpot.

For a little while. As they always seem to do, the jackpot was starting to run dry. But this weekend was going to change all of that. Randy was convinced that he was going to kick back with Michelle, and only Michelle, for two whole days of relaxation. No philosophical debates, and none of her haughty friends. No discussions about literature, or the transcendentalists theories on creation's . . . whatever. Just his super-tight-bodied girlfriend, poolside. That was all he wanted.

"Hey, baby," he called out as he slid the kitchen door open and stepped into the glinting sunlight.

The sunlight glinted off of the pool, and off of the moisture of her bronzed skin in contrast to the baby pink bikini that she was sporting. Situated on her chaise, papers and books spread about, she pulled her dark glasses from her face and smiled as she tilted her face, accepting his kiss with a soft moan. "Taste like cigarettes and Red Bull," she whispered when he pulled back.

Nodding, Randy lowered himself into the chair at her side and kicked his flip-flops onto the cement. With his legs stretched out in front of him and his face turned to the sky, he let out a contented sigh. "So whatcha doin'?"

"Researching," Michelle answered distractedly, replacing her glasses on her nose. "All of this steroid stuff is outta control," she added, her soft accent lilting her words.

Randy rolled his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head. Here we go again, he thought. He really didn't mind the serious conversations with Michelle. He really didn't mind talking until three in the morning about the deeper things in life. But he preferred to ease into philosophy and controversy. It wasn't his favorite thing when it smacked him in the face as soon as he walked through the door. "You preppin' for an interview or what?" he asked, knowing that she wasn't the kind of chick to let something blow over. She wasn't going to put the books down until she was finished with her research. Even if Randy was half-naked and ready for her just a few feet away.

"Just wanna be prepared in case they ask me," she answered, as she always answered. She was always prepared. For every question. From every angle.

He had always loved the fact that she was one of those girls who never pretended to know what she was talking about if she didn't. She didn't try to sound smarter than she was, or act like she knew everything. But when she did know something about a subject, she wasn't afraid to express her opinion on it. It was an admirable quality, to say the least. But sometimes he wished she knew how to leave well enough alone. "If they ask you, just tell 'em you can't speak for everybody, but you don't do 'em."

Lifting the print-out in her hands, Michelle turned her face to him and knitted her brow in concern. "Randy," she started, her voice heavy, "this is different. This isn't gonna just blow over," she warned him.

"It never does," he shrugged easily. It wasn't that he was trying to be an ass, but if there was one thing Randy knew about his business, it was that people were always going to ask about fuckin' steroids. He couldn't say that it never bothered him, but he was so used to it that it seemed like a non-issue in his mind.

But Michelle wasn't buying the blasé attitude that her boyfriend was exhibiting. "How can you act like it's no big deal?" she asked. "It's huge, Randy. And it should be," she added, waiting for his reaction. When he only rolled his eyes, her brow knitted angrily. "Don't do that," she pointed toward him in frustration. "It's dismissive and disrespectful."

He'd heard it a million times from her. Most of the time, he didn't even know he had done it, but rolling his eyes was a natural reaction. Like the asshole smirk that always popped up at the most inappropriate times. "What do you want from me? You want a run-down of the side effects? Or," he struggled to sit up straighter and cast a glance at the beautiful woman at his side, "maybe you'd like to know how a guy who is so careful about what he eats and how he works out could possibly put that poisonous shit in his body."

Michelle looked taken aback by his response, as though she wasn't expecting it. If Randy was honest, he would admit that her reaction was the one thing that bothered him more than anything. It was commonplace for her - any time he showed a depth of knowledge, or made any comment that transcended 'stupid, meat headed athlete' she seemed shocked. At first, he'd felt proud of himself for showing his intelligent side to this woman he admired so much. Now it just pissed him off. What else did he have to do to impress this woman? When was she going to realize that he wasn't just a sex-crazed, man whore frat boy?

"You don't have to be a dick about it," she snapped, her eyes drifting back to the papers in her lap. When he rolled his eyes and started to stand, she found her frustration growing. When would he learn that she didn't like to be ignored, walked away from as though she had nothing to contribute to a conversation about the business they shared. He always thought he knew. "I only ask because I care what you think, Randy," she shot at his retreating form.

Turning on his heel, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "And I'm walking away because you don't," he informed her. Chuckling cynically when she stood, he waited for the defensive response. Cena always laughed that Randy liked his girls fiery. Well, Michelle was as fiery as they came. It was one of the things he loved most about her, the fact she didn't back down. He liked fighting with her. Mostly because she ended arguments with the hottest sex he'd ever had.

"How can you say that?" she shot, drawing him out of his memories of their last fight. "You are my boyfriend! I love you! Of course I care what you think!"

"No, you don't," he interrupted, his voice raising slightly, wishing for the hundredth time that she didn't live so close to her neighbors. Sometimes he couldn't help wondering what they must have thought of the couple's outdoor outbursts. "You care if I agree with you. You care if I nod my head and bow to your brilliance," he accused. "Every fuckin' time I disagree, you get pissed. You get pissed off, and I get pissed off and we fuckin' fight. Loudly," he added for emphasis. "I fight for a fuckin' living, Michelle. Excuse me if I don't wanna do it with my girlfriend when I walk in the front fucking door!"

Without even waiting for her response, he stormed into the house, leaving his girlfriend to stare after him. Not that she would stand there for long. Following him quickly, she caught up to him in the front room. "Do NOT walk away from me!" she demanded, studying his face when he turned from his spot on the second step. "You always do this! You always walk away when you're uncomfortable, when you don't know what to say. You get this idea in your head that I'm smarter than you and you back down from a conversation because you don't wanna sound stupid," she deduced, nearly stomping her foot when he opened his mouth to speak. "You do!" she insisted. He thought she didn't know. He thought that she hadn't figured him out over the last couple of months. "How many times do I have to tell you that it doesn't matter if you only have a high school education? It doesn't matter to me. I just want your opinion on the things that are important to me!"

He couldn't help laughing at her theory. "I don't fucking care how smart you are!" he finally spat, shaking his head and taking a deep breath to calm himself. If he didn't, he would put his fist through a wall, and that wouldn't help anything. He'd learned that after their first argument. "All those fuckin' degrees on your office wall are to me is receipts for all the money you paid to learn shit you'll never fuckin' use. I didn't go to college because I didn't want to. Not because I couldn't. I have seen things and learned things in my lifetime that your professors and your snobby-ass friends will never know.

"Do they know the exact moment to leave their feet for the perfect drop kick? Do they know how to recover from a missed bump, or how to pull a match out of their asses at the last moment? Do they know exactly which painkillers take care of throbbing neck pain, and which energy drinks they can't use to wash those pills down? No, they don't. You," he pointed to her emphatically, "don't. Most of the guys in the locker room don't know that shit, either. I do. I know the shit that matters to me. The shit I have to know."

Over the course of his soliloquy, she had taken several steps back, and as he finished speaking, she sank to the couch, an overwhelming sense of guilt washing over her. She had tried so hard to force him into the mold that every other man she'd ever dated fit into. The night they had hooked up for the first time, they'd spent three hours at the back table of a little bar, talking about ring psychology and business angles she had never considered. She had thought he was brilliant, and she'd fallen in that instant. "Randy, I," she started.

But he cut her off with a heavy sigh. She was sorry. He knew it. He could see it. She didn't have to say it. "Look, I know you're crazy smart, baby," he smiled, raising an eyebrow in her direction. "It doesn't intimidate me, and you don't have to prove it to me," he added when the corner of her lip twitched upward. "But believe it or not, I did not come here to debate with you. I didn't come lookin' for heavy conversation."

Standing slowly, she ran her hands over her bare legs and moved toward him. "What did you come here for, baby?"

With a maniacal chuckle, he threw her over his shoulder and smacked her ass when she squealed. "I just wanna fuck like rabbits and forget my own name. Think you can handle that?"

Michelle laughed when Randy tossed her onto the bed. "Why do they call it fucking like rabbits? It's not like rabbits fuck anymore than any other animal, they just have a shorter gestation," she started, but bit her lip when Randy grabbed his keys from the dresser top. Covering her mouth with her hand, she shook her head and held her arms out to him. "Sorry. No more debates," she promised, wrapping her legs around his waist when he fell against her body.

Putting all other thoughts on the back burner, Randy set about fulfilling his goal for the weekend. Oh, there would be other fights. He didn't doubt there would be this same fight again somewhere down the road. And he didn't know if they would make it through that one as easily as they had this one. But for the moment, it was too much to think about. Nothing deep. Nothing serious. Nothing that required any thought at all.


	9. Number Eight: Candace

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 8 _by Queen of Kaos

**"Number eight, vulnerable me."

* * *

**

He was in hell. Though he'd been in awkward positions before, Randy had never been so uncomfortable. Never. Why did Candace have to be such a freak? She was so hot. So sensual. So much fun. She was everything he had ever wanted in a woman. With one glaring, terrifying exception.

Of course, he couldn't say that he hadn't been warned. He'd sat around plenty of bar tables in the three weeks since hooking up with her, listening to her debate the merits of the old versus the new with his friends. They talked about blood versus guts. Freddie versus Jason. He had known, since before they started dating, that she was a horror movie buff. He had known, and he thought he'd been ready.

Determined to give Candace a date she would really enjoy, he had started planning as soon as they decided to spend the weekend alone in her native Milwaukee. Not only had he looked up the show times and directions to the theater, but he had read every plot summary and spoiler alert available on the internet. He'd forced himself to look at screen caps of older slasher fics, preparing his mind for the images that he would see.

As it turned out, nothing could have prepared him for the monstrosity that was _Hostel_. It wasn't that he had never been subjected to horror movies before, but he had never liked them. Never found an ounce of entertainment in them. And even after reading how a filmmaker could seemingly melt a woman's face off with a blow torch, he couldn't stop himself from running to the bathroom when the scene came onto the screen. Every time he thought about returning to the theater, he would open the door, hear a blood curdling scream, and jump back in abject fear. At least he did all of his freaking out in the lobby. Away from Candace, thus securing his masculinity for one more day.

He wasn't sure how much more he could take, though, as he sat perched on the edge of her sofa, awaiting his date's return with beers from the kitchen. Though she was just down the hall, it felt like miles to Randy. What was taking her so long? Did she need help? And why did she leave him alone with all this shit? What kind of woman likes to be surrounded by chainsaws and leather face masks? What had he gotten himself into?

Though his eyes never lingered in one place for long, he took in the shelves of action figures, some of the most vile villains of all time - Jason Voorhies, Freddie Krueger, Leatherface, Pinhead, Michael Meyers, Chucky, the Crypt Keeper, and a bunch of bloody-faced dudes he didn't know. Framed movie posters hung between the bookshelves, depicting the _Amityville Horror_ house, the stairs from _The Exorcist_, the Bates Motel from _Psycho_, and the black and white photo of Nosferatu from _Dracula_.

A row of shadow boxes above the flat-screen television housed the most iconic masks in film history: from the _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_, _Halloween_, _Friday the 13th, Silence of the Lambs, Scream, It, _and _Saw. _In the corner by itself, a backlit trophy case housed the most prized acquisitions in her collection: Freddie's infamous sweater, glove, and hat; the puzzle box from _Hellraiser_; the ball from _Phantasim_; a jar of eyeballs from _See No Evil; _a proton pack from _The Ghostbusters_; the clown from _Poltergeist_. _Rosemary's Baby'_s stroller stood proudly in front of the case. Randy honestly couldn't decide what about the room skeezed him out the most.

Candace was nearly back to the den when she heard a high-pitched scream of terror. Either her mind was playing tricks on her or something was seriously wrong. Racing into the room, she stopped short in the doorway to find Randy hugging a throw pillow to his chest and staring in blank terror at the overturned coffee table in the center of the room. She wasn't sure if she should be more worried about what had caused his reaction, or pissed that there was now a pound of potting soil on her tan carpet. "What?" she asked, her breathing short from the burst of speed that had propelled her down the hall.

Relaxing his shoulders just a bit, Randy pointed toward the couch. "Your fuckin' cat tried to kill me!" he exclaimed, a squeal still evident in his voice.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Candace exhaled the breath she'd been holding and walked into the living room. Placing the beers on the end table, she rested one manicured hand on the head of the tiny black kitten curled up on the back of the couch. "Randy, she's four months old. She barely has teeth," she chided, as though his fear was ridiculous.

Candace may have thought the cat was sweet, but Randy knew the truth. "She's possessed," he insisted. When she rolled her eyes again, he tossed the pillow to the couch and looked around at the mess he had made. It **was **ridiculous, he knew, but he couldn't seem to calm his wayward nerves.

Stepping around the couch, Candace sat easily against the oversized cushions and then leaned forward, her elbows resting on her denim-clad thighs. "Randy," she started, her head still shaking as the ridiculous image of what had taken place in the room before her arrival played over in her head. "Is all of this because of the movie?"

With his hands resting on his trim hips, he shrugged his shoulders. He would not pussy out in front of her. Not this early in the relationship at least. "All of what?" he asked, cringing inwardly when his voice came out in a shaken question.

"You barely sat still in the theater," she started, thinking back to the way he kept darting for the concession stand to get her more popcorn. Of course, she wouldn't have needed more popcorn if Randy hadn't screeched like Melina and knocked the first tub into her lap. How could he be so freaked? He spent half the film in the hallway or the bathroom, and the other half staring at the floor, or at her hand as he squeezed the circulation from it.

But Randy wasn't goin' down like that. He would not be mocked. "It's the first time we've been able to really go out on a date, baby," he reminded her, his body relaxing as he moved to her and sat beside her on the couch. If he could just keep his eyes focused on the woman at his side, he wouldn't have to look at the creepy decorations around the room. "I wanted to make sure you had a good time, that you had everything you needed."

It was a thin excuse, at best, but Candace appreciated the fact that Randy was embarrassed. At least he knew his fear wasn't rational, she figured. "At the restaurant, you asked the waiter for booth next to the wall, away from the mirrors, and you insisted on facing the door," she pointed out. "And when the waitress asked if you wanted a refill, you nearly pissed yourself," she added with a knowing grin.

"That bitch snuck up on me!" Randy protested. As far as he was concerned, anybody would have wigged out when that terrifying woman approached them from behind. "She was freakishly tall," he added under his breath, shaking his head and wondering where the hell his composure had gone. He wasn't this guy. He had been through hellacious matches in the ring, had bled with the best of them. He wasn't squeamish. He just didn't like horror movies. Was that such a crime?

Candace couldn't help laughing. "Randy, she was sixty years old." Shaking her head, she watched him staring at the floor, his cheeks flooding pink at her synopsis of their evening. "You know I dig you, right?" she asked, scooting toward him slowly and reaching out to run her hand over his thigh, making sure that it was still in his eyeline so as not to startle him. "It's okay if you don't like horror movies," she added in a whisper.

Risking a glance in her direction, he let out a deep sigh. "It is?" When Candace nodded, he leaned back on the couch and allowed himself to unwind for the first time since picking her up nearly five hours earlier. "Cause I know how much you love 'em," he added, his eyes quickly darting to the wall and then back to her.

She appreciated the fact that he cared so much about what she liked, but she couldn't help wondering where he'd learned that relationships were about putting one's self through mental anguish just to make the other person happy. "I do," she agreed easily. "Doesn't mean I don't think you're a good guy."

There was a hesitation in her voice that Randy couldn't overlook. "But?" he baited.

"Look, I still adore you," she started, unsure of how to say what was on her mind without completely humiliating him. "I wanna hang out with you and the guys at the bar after a show. I wanna laugh with you backstage when the world is going crazy around us. I wanna tease Cena about his movie roles and watch basketball games in your hotel room with you. You're almost perfect for me, Randy Orton," she admitted, biting her lip and hoping that he wouldn't take her let down the wrong way. There was no easy way to tell a guy what she was trying to tell Randy. Their egos wouldn't allow it.

Turning his body toward her, Randy fought to wrap his brain around what she was saying. A part of him kind of respected her for letting him know what she thought straight up. He'd been with too many women that gave him just enough time to get his heart all wrapped up before cutting him loose, or before freaking out and forcing him to cut them loose. He admired the fact that Candace was up front. But the other part of him, the cocky, prideful guy in his gut, wasn't so quick to stand up and applaud. "Because I don't like horror movies, you just wanna be friends?"

She knew he wouldn't understand. Placing her beer bottle back on the table, Candace took a deep breath and fought for some way to make him understand. "It's not just the movies, Randy. It's the manicures, and the annual tattoo touch-ups, and the way your shoes always have to match your belt. I thought I could get past the fact that you're just fuckin' prettier than me, but now I'm not sure." Shaking her head, she smiled good-naturedly, praying that he would understand the meaning behind her blunt words. "Plenty of women dig metro guys. I just prefer my men to be a bit more," she searched for any word that would not emasculate him any more than she just had, "rugged," she finally chose.

"What?" Randy's eyebrow shot up on instinct as his eyes darted toward his lap. He could see her smile and knew that one part of him was plenty rugged. "I'm not man enough for you?" he winked, watching the hesitation flicker through her eyes. It wasn't an admission, but enough of a 'I **am **gonna miss that' for his ego.

Unfortunately, before Candace could say anything, the kitten stood on the back of the couch and arched her back lazily, causing Randy to bristle and lean into the arm of the couch. He paused for a moment as Candace burst into another round of uncontrollable laughter, and then allowed himself to relax. "Alright, fine," he conceded. So he wasn't the guy for her. Maybe her freak-show lovin', horror-movie obsessin' love of the dark side didn't make her the girl for him, either. He could live with that.

He just wasn't sure he could live with whatever might be waiting for him in the darkness as he walked from Candace's front door to his car. There was no telling what kind of monster cretin was waiting in his backseat with a roll of fishing line, or at his apartment to flay him alive. What if he woke up in the bath tub tomorrow with all of his internal organs missing? What if Satan himself was waiting to steal his soul?

Candace was considering how best to clean up the dirt from the broken pot on her floor when she realized that Randy was hesitating at the front door. Glancing up, she noticed his shoulders rise and fall as he slowly reached for the knob. "Randy," her voice pierced the silence and she couldn't help giggling when he jumped again. Turning toward her, she thought his 'brave' face was adorable. "Why don't you stay tonight?" He began to shake his head, a show of courage she knew he was faking. "We could have sweaty break-up sex with all the lights on."

At that suggestion, Randy smiled. And not because of the sex.


	10. Number Nine: Maria

**A/N: So this is the final chapter of Randy's journey. I just wanna say a quick thanks to everyone who has enjoyed this story. And a HUGE thanks to Shannygoat, deConstruction, and Cenasgrl for helping me write it. It was a little bit different, I know, but you guys caught the vision and you helped me to create a story so far beyond my wildest dreams. Thanks!**

**Fool for Love  
**_Chapter 10 _by Queen of Kaos

**"Find one who's golden and never let go or you'll find yourself waiting alone."

* * *

**

God, she was beautiful. Deep red hair shone under the twinkling restaurant lights. Just enough touchably soft skin peeked out in just the right places. Full, succulent lips pouted as she perused the menu while she waited for him. Not over, or under, dressed. Perfection awaited him as he smiled at the hostess and eased passed her on the way to his date.

Between the fact that he was already running late, and the memories of past girlfriends running through his head for the duration of the drive over, he felt a little rattled. And Randy Orton didn't like feeling rattled. Especially not on a first date. Especially in the presence of a goddess who could, very possibly, be the one he'd been searching for all this time.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized easily, dropping a soft kiss on the crown of her head before lowering himself into the seat across the table.

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, Maria shook her head and folded her hands over the menu. After a long moment of holding his gaze in hers, she smiled coyly. "I hope you're worth the wait," she winked.

Randy couldn't help the chuckle as he cleared his throat and reached for his water glass. "Gotta tell ya, Maria," he started, his tongue traveling slowly over his lip as he stared at her doe eyes, feeling lost somewhere within their depths. It was the same feeling he'd been getting every time he looked at her lately. "I've been lookin' forward to this all day."

If he was completely honest, he'd been looking forward to it for weeks now. It had been awhile since he'd dated anyone, decided that his heart, and his head, needed a bit of a break after Michelle. But there was something undeniably charming about Maria. And try as he might to hang back, he found himself flirting with her at every turn. She was known for hanging out with more of the guys than the girls, and when she started flirting back, he hadn't been all that surprised. When he finally decided it was time to get back on the dating horse, she'd been the first face in his mind.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned forward slightly on her elbows. "Can I be honest with you?" she asked him. Randy simply nodded, still mesmerized by her eyes, by the twinkle in them. "I wasn't sure about this whole thing," she confessed. "I mean, you have quite the reputation in the diva locker room," she added. "Wasn't sure I wanted to be the next in your long line of broken hearts."

He shrugged. It wasn't like he didn't know. Most of the girls he dated told him that. Why should they get involved with him when he'd already been involved with most of their friends? Why should they believe they were any different? He really couldn't tell them why. All he knew was that his intentions were pure, and he could prove it over time. ""Well, I'm glad you reconsidered," he said, turning his attention to the menu. "And just so you know," he added with a wink of his own, "I don't actually intend to break your heart."

---

Three hours later, Randy found himself walking along the beach, watching the wind ripple the waves of Lake Michigan as Maria's hand rested easily in his own. Dinner had been fantastic, and the company was great. In a lot of ways, he felt like he was hanging out with one of the guys. Of course, none of them gave him the same stirring sensation when they laughed. And none of them looked at him with eyes that begged both to be taken advantage of and protected all at one time. It was true that he'd dated a lot of the women in his business in his search for love, but something about Maria felt different. Comfortable. Right.

"Can I ask you a question?" Maria finally asked after they had walked for about an hour.

Stopping as the waves lapped over their bare feet, Randy turn his body toward his date, drinking in the site of her in the glow of the moon as he took both of her hands and held them out to their sides. "You can ask me anything, Sweetheart," he assured her.

A brief giggle escaped her lips, but she cleared her throat as though she hadn't intended to let it out. "Well," she stared to the ground and then back, "you date a lot, right?" He shrugged. He was what some would call a serial monogamist. It wasn't that he dated around. But he'd had a lot of girlfriends. "I mean, you've been on a lot of first dates."

Something about the discomfort in her tone made him feel tense. Moving one hand to her cheek, he held her brown eyes in his own amused gaze. "Not by choice, but yeah," he admitted finally. "Why?"

"Because they're not supposed to feel like this," she whispered, hypnotized by the glint of the dim night sky on Randy's sparkling blue eyes. "Not this easy," she added, shaking her head and laughing in spite of herself. She was well-aware that she was acting like a love struck school girl. "Most of the ones I've been on are like job interviews or something. Like an awkward, meticulous dance around the shit you really wanna know."

He knew exactly what she meant. But even more than understanding, he found himself ecstatic that she felt the same peaceful, easy feeling he did. "Would you feel better if I grilled you?" he teased.

Nodding, she dropped to the sand in her little black dress and motioned for him to sit facing her. Maria gathered all of her hair in her hands and let it fall down her back before straightening her posture. "Okay, Mr. Orton," she started, putting on her serious face.

If she hadn't been the cutest thing he'd ever seen, he might have been able to keep a straight face. But she was adorable. Trying so hard to be professional. And for a moment, he forgot where he was. When she tapped his knee, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "Sorry. Got a little lost in," he started and then stopped when she smiled and rubbed his knee before returning her hands to her own lap. "Okay. So, Maria, tell me. Would you consider yourself clingy in a relationship?"

Her eyes turned upward, she seemed to think about her answer carefully. "Not especially so. No."

Randy couldn't help being slightly relieved at that answer. "Do you have a problem flirting with guys for drinks?"

"Depends," she stated, watching him cringe slightly. "Are you with me?" Randy nodded, reaching his arms behind him in the sand. "Then I better not need anybody else buyin' me a drink," she spoke, as though she were the one doing the warning.

He allowed his eyes to sweep over her plunging neckline as he asked his next question. "Are you gay?"

"Are you?" she fired back, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

The laugh that Randy released as he shook his head drew Maria's legs out from under her body. She rested her feet in his lap and he ran his thumbs over her arches nimbly, as though they struck this position all of the time. "Are you trusting in a relationship?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Until you give me a reason not to be." Resting her hands in the sand at her sides, she watched Randy carefully, knowing full well what he was doing with her.

Falling into an easy rhythm, Randy felt the questions rolling over his lips with ease, though he was barely paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. Not when Maria groaned as he massaged her feet. "You got any hidden heritage I should know about? Any glaring genetic or cultural differences?"

It took a brief moment for her to catch on to that one, but Maria shook her head. "Just the obvious one." And it was Randy's turn to seem confused. "Well, ya see, Randy, I'm a girl and you're a boy," she started, but stopped when he leaned forward to dig his finger into her side. "You're so cute," she muttered without thinking, blushing when she realized what she had said.

It was so easy to forget his train of thought with her, especially when she was smiling or giggling. Especially when her little nose scrunched up and she dragged her toe over his thigh. "I don't have a college degree," he admitted, less of a question and more of a confession.

"Wow," Maria's eyes grew wider as she blew out a deep breath. "This really is like a job interview," she added, withdrawing her feet from his lap as she rose to her knees. "Your mental prowess is not that important to me, Randy. As long as you can feed yourself, tie your own shoes, and wipe your own ass, we'll be golden." Reaching out a hand to her, she smiled brilliantly. "Any more questions, Mr. Orton?"

Randy raised one knee and rested his foot in the sand, his forearm lazily slung over his leg as he smirked up at her. "Just one," he held up a finger. "How do you feel about horror movies?"

Maria couldn't stop the crinkle of her nose as she breathed an 'ew' and helped him to his feet. "Look, Randy," she smiled as he wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his hand against her hip. "I'm not all those other girls you've dated," she assured him. "And I know you're not the guys that I've dated before," she added with a whispered 'Thank God.'

When he felt her hand slide into his back pocket, he couldn't stop the jump in his chest. Her touch was electrifying, though he would keep that information to himself for a little while longer. No need to bring more ridicule from the locker room, or his father for that matter. At least not yet.

After the beach, Randy took Maria back to the restaurant to pick up her car. "So we've got a pretty insane schedule coming up," he started when he had parked in the empty lot. "I don't know if I'm gonna have a lot of time."

She nodded easily and leaned across the center console, taking his chin in between her finger and her thumb. "Trust me," she grinned madly, her wide eyes twinkling at him with more excitement and happiness than he had ever experienced with any woman, ever. "We'll find some time."

As he closed the gap between them and covered her lips with his, Randy couldn't help smiling into the kiss. Maybe it wasn't different. Maybe this one would end, too. Maybe she wouldn't be the mother of his children, sitting on a rocking chair with him on the front porch in fifty years. Maybe she would turn out like all of the others.

Pulling back from the kiss, Maria looked at her hands and then back into his eyes. "Do you," she started, "Um, do you wanna come back to my place?"

Randy nodded as she reached for the door handle. "I'll follow you."

Maybe all of the other women he'd dated to that point were trial runs. Maybe they had prepared him for tonight. For her. Maybe Maria **was **as different as she seemed. As he followed her tail lights into the darkening night, he couldn't help hoping.


End file.
